How Mayonnaise Got Its Groove Back
Ask any Russian what her favorite dish is, and chances are it contains mayonnaise. The dinner table I grew up with as a child in Moscow was often white; not the tablecloth, but the food itself, slathered with and doused in the creamy, gooey substance. Exposed to the condiment in the Communist-era '60s, Russians are obsessed with mayo to this day. Olivier salad, a mayo-heavy mixture of cubed potato, carrots and bologna, is the star of the show; ‘French-style’ meat (thin steaks covered in mayo and onions, then baked) is another celebrated dish. My absolute favorite is Herring Under a Fur Coat, a glorious guilty pleasure consisting of herring, potatoes, beets and occasionally hard-boiled eggs, arranged in mayo-soaked layers. BBQ? Soak it in mayo for extra softness. A bowl of party dip? Unimaginable without mayo, just like life itself.
Upon immigrating to Israel in 1991, I was surprised to find mayo smeared with negativity. In a country where the sun shines brightly all year long and winter means light rain rather than knee-high snow, no one desired mayo’s heavy hand. For me, the condiment became synonymous with Russian immigrants—a symbol of our otherness. Cholesterol, one of the health buzzwords at the time, did nothing for mayo’s reputation either. My family, striving to adopt a healthier, local lifestyle, abandoned heavier dishes in favor of Israel’s bountiful produce. As a kid desperate to fit in, I didn’t speak of mayo. At times, the condiment would make an appearance at fellow Russians’ house parties, and the encounter was always thrilling and lined with a thin layer of guilt.
Fast forward 15 years to my Bay Area living room, where I was watching an episode from season 4 of New Girl: The ever-charming Nick is making his signature Bolognese sauce, a proud smile on his face. “Doesn’t the name ‘Bolognese’ come from 'mayonnaise’?” he says, adding mayo to the repulsive creation. I watched and cry-laughed; having moved to the U.S two years prior, I was just starting to realize that the American relationship with the controversial stuff of my youth is light and affectionate. Mayo is cool, sort of. It’s okay to like it, it’s a little excessive to hate on it, and ultimately, it is what it is: a mere condiment.
But recently mayonnaise is back on a pedestal. Made trendily vegan in San Francisco by Just Mayo and artisanally in NYC by Sir Kensington's, and served alongside start-up-world foods like plant-based shrimp and the Impossible Burger, the simple condiment has—against all odds—become a health food. Even Gwyneth Paltrow has embraced Vegenaise because even she knows that fat is essential to making things taste damn delicious. Others, like Bonnie Frumkin Morales, whose wonderful and trendy Kachka: A Return to Russian Cooking is sticky with mayo on my shelf, are still beholden to the egg-based original. Either way, vegan and sexy or eggy and unapologetic, on a hamburger or in a deviled egg, mayonnaise is back in my life, and what a smooth, soft comeback it's been.
