I stood at the mayo aisle the other day, in alarm.
It was so complicated. Used to be, you only went wild at the mayo display if you reached for some Miracle Whip. Now, the labels read Hot and Spicy, Reduced Fat with Olive Oil, Chipotle, Horseradish Dijon (made with Grey Poupon), Basil Pesto, Sweet Chile, and, Lord help us, Wasabi.
I am sure it’s all good, and most of it is low fat.
I bet mayo people will like it.
I think even some mustard people will like it, too.
But I walked away a little sad.
My Aunt Edna, who died last year, made the best cornbread in this world. It was dense but light and moist, not grainy, crumbly, but perfect.
I heard, once, she mixed a little daub of mayonnaise into the batter.
That may not be true.
I do not want anyone to tell me, if it’s not.
I hear Elvis liked mayonnaise, liked it a lot, on hamburgers with a slab of Velveeta. But, of course, we all know what happened to him. Still, I can’t be a mustard person, and I can’t abide this low-fat mayonnaise any more. I could move to France. My wife would let me have mayonnaise if we lived in France. Like all snooty mustard people, she is funny that way. But I don’t know anybody in France.
What I can do, is wait for her to go out of town.
Rick Bragg is the best-selling author of All Over but the Shoutin’, Ava’s Man, The Prince of Frogtown and other books. A winner of the Pulitzer Prize, he is the Cason Professor of Writing at the University of Alabama.