Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Real Live Fresh Homemade Mayonaisse

I swear to you, last night, and you aren't going to believe this, I had honest-to-goodness mayonnaise that someone had MADE. Not a machine, not a conveyor belt, a person with a whisk, oil vinegar, and eggs.

And I don't think it was psychological, because I didn't know right away. That mayonnaise tasted better. It tasted really, really good.

It didn't hurt that I was having dinner with friends (putting me in a good mood to begin with) or that I was eating a BLT that someone had dubbed a "Heart Stopper" on the menu, or that the fancy mayo was accompanied by perfect kettle chips made right there in the little restaurant fresh for us...

That mayo was divine.

I have been known to love various condiments that will lead to my early death for the whole of my life. This is accurate. I will die earlier because I would mainline Devonshire cream, or clotted cream, an English topping (like lemon curd) that tastes amazing on anything. Like your finger. Or a spoon. Or out of the jar, using your finger as a spoon. Or, you could actually slather it on cheesecake with minted strawberries, on perfect bread with raspberry preserves...

I love that kind of thing.

And if I have to give up a vast quantity of my life span in order to enjoy it, I am all for it. If I die young, it will be because I ate my fresh, hand-whisked mayo spread thick on my sandwich (the bread of which had real live grill-marks like the chefs do).

I mean, that was glorious. Just plain glorious. And I think it is a crying shame that I will have to get back in my car and go all the way to Huntington if I want handmade mayo to be back in my life. I mean, shouldn't I live somewhere where I can go on purpose to the cafe down the street where they do that kind of thing? It would be nice...

Although I think it would be unrealistic to expect that kind of thing. We're lucky we have more than one little restaurant that puts forth extra effort.

But don't you notice, through life, that when you have something special, you get a little spoiled. Well, now I'm spoiled. I'm looking forward to more trips to the Brick House Grill...

1 comment:

  1. Let me just say, I looked up clotted (Devonshire) cream to see if I could make it, and no, whisking cream cheese with vanilla is not Devonshire cream I'm sorry. That just completely doesn't cut it, and if you think it does, stop baking right now. I beg you. Step away from the mixing bowl.

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