The Japanese company Bourbon (which, despite its name, is not involved in the alcohol industry) has introduced sliced mayonnaise, describing it as a “sheet-like condiment.” It's advertised as a time-saver for those wanting to prepare a quick sandwich.
Over in Japan, Morinaga Milk Industry has recently started selling a mayonnaise-flavored ice cream bar. It goes by the name “Calorie Monster Cherio Creamy Mayonnaise Flavor.” So, I assume it's not in any way a diet food.
The bar is said to have a white-chocolate center surrounded by the mayonnaise-flavored ice cream, all encased in a shell of white chocolate and cookie crumbs.
This actually isn't the first time mayo-flavored ice cream has been offered for sale. Last year, ICE, an artisan ice cream shop in Falkirk, Scotland, debuted Hellmann’s Real Mayonnaise ice cream. The store’s owner, Kyle Gentleman, described it as a “full on hit of fat and cream followed with an eggy milky aftertaste.”
In 1973, UC Davis fired Doris Judd from her job as a sandwich maker in the school's cafeteria, citing her "failure to spread mayonnaise to the edges of sandwich bread." Her supervisors also complained that she was slow putting sauerkraut on hot dogs, and had once made too many sloppy joes, which then had to be thrown out.
Judd subsequently sued the university for unlawful termination, arguing that the real reason she was fired was because the university was trying to save money by eliminating older workers. In the ensuing media coverage, she was nicknamed the "Mayonnaise Lady."
The judge agreed with her, remarking that the charges against her seemed "trivial" and ordered that she be rehired. Back on the job, she was assigned to work the grill, rather than sandwich duty. But apparently she didn't stay long, retiring soon after with the money from the settlement.
Duke's has rather passionate followers. It's some kind of Southern thing. Southerners LOVE their mayonnaise, especially mayonnaise and tomato sandwiches. And Duke's is held in high regard as being the premier Southern mayonnaise. I've had it, and I agree it's pretty good. It's not a sweet mayonnaise. In fact, it has no sugar in it at all. It's like Hellmanns, but a bit tangier.
What exactly is the mayonnaise diet? Googling the term produces various vague references to such a thing, but no specifics. So, like the Dial-A-Dietitian, I have no idea what this diet involves... beyond a lot of mayonnaise and eggs.
My guess is that it was either an alternative name for the Atkins Diet, or an eccentric variant of it, since the book Dr. Atkins' Diet Revolution first came out in 1972, which makes the timing about right for this person inquiring about a mayonnaise diet in 1974.
Honolulu columnist Charles Memminger founded the Worldwide I Hate Mayonnaise Club in 1988. Its purpose was to spread the gospel of mayonnaise hatred. It did so by circulating quotations such as, "Mayonnaise, like hollandaise, was invented by the French to cover up the flavour of spoiled flesh, stale vegetables, rotten fish."
Member's would receive an official certificate that they could frame and put on their wall.
I recently learned that banana and mayonnaise sandwiches are considered a southern delicacy. A variant is the peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. Or combining all three: the peanut butter, banana, and mayonnaise sandwich.
The Garden & Gun blog traces the popularity of peanut butter and mayo sandwiches (and presumably also of banana and mayo) back to the Great Depression:
Through the hardships of the Great Depression and the lean years that followed, peanut butter and mayonnaise kept many struggling households afloat. They were also the ingredients in a sandwich that was once as popular as peanut butter and jelly in parts of the South...
Newspaper clippings from the national heyday of the peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich, a period that seems to have begun in the 1930s and continued through the 1960s, provide evidence that the practice of adding mayonnaise to peanut butter could have originated as a way of transforming rough-hewn nut butters into spreadable pastes.
As you eat your sandwich, you probably never realized all the science that went into it. Because, of course, some researcher had to study exactly how the mayonnaise flows off your knife onto the bread. [wiley.com]
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.