I don’t really use mayonnaise these days yet I can remember my mother always making it fresh.
I continued the tradition for a while.
Call me a traditionalist or a food conservative if you like but I am not crazy about buying a jar of the stuff.
You will not find me buying any salad dressing either (not for myself at least).
All I need for my vinaigrette is olive oil, red wine vinegar and preferably (to my taste) whole grain mustard.
OK, I am digressing here. I was reading At Berkeley Bowl, the nuts are off the shelf (LA Times, September 22) an entertaining piece on this food emporium which they might as well call the Berkeley Brawl from the sound of it when I decided to segue to the Food section of the paper.
I was scanning the page when A mayo clinic: basic homemade mayonnaise by Amy Scattergood (September 10) caught my eye.
Her opening sentence "Eating homemade mayonnaise is the kind of luxurious pleasure — like
eating chocolate in the bath — that shouldn’t require apology" made me scratch my head.
I do agree 100% with her next statement that "rich
yet subtle in flavor, with a pillowy texture, homemade mayo is nothing
like the pale, cloying stuff you get out of a jar."
Why did I scratch my head?
I felt like Amy was making a big fuss out of nothing.
Growing up my mother always made her own mayo.
It was especially great served with steamed fish (am I using the right words) and boiled potatoes.
Back then there was a saying that women who had their periods should not try their hand at making mayo or they would make it turn, imagine.
Why are many things nowadays made to sound like a culinary extravaganza when they are just basic things, you tell me?
Simple pleasures!
The opinionated French Guy from New Jersey
Related: Artichokes, How to cook and eat them (if you were born in Brittany)