I had a good day Friday, puttering at this and that, and “worked from home” until the decision-point came about leaving the new residence and the hypnotically attractive diversion of the pool. I had already logged an hour of treading water, and though the ravaged of the tumult of travel and moving had me a bit ragged, I decided to venture out and go to Willow for a break.
Tinkerbell was tending the bar along with Big Jim, filling in for Tex, who was on a cruise or something. August is the month of vacations, after all. We were discussing the President’s latest vacation, and the general noise level of a recently inebriated party at the tall stools over by the wall when my favorite Flag Officer strolled in. I had not seen him since I worked at the phone company, and he was running errands in town while the family was getting together with his daughter.
I made the introductions with enthusiasm, including Barrister Jerry, who was hitting on a lovely young woman about a third his age. “We met when we were all camped out at the Navy Lodge in Coronado, waiting for quarters to open up, and I think we were in a conspiracy to conceal the existence of the dog, who technically was not entitled to government billeting.”
Bill was a surface line guy, and one of the real gentlemen I encountered in almost three decades in the Navy. I last saw him as a PhibGru Commander, embarked in the marvelous and then-new USS Essex, and it was a pleasure to be underway with him. He is an occasional reader of my nonsense, and consequently decided to pop in to Willow and see the place in person. I was glad I made the effort to get our, or I would have missed him.
(USS Essex underway. Bill is second from left on the bridge. Photo USN)
He could only stay for a drink, and then was on to the rest of his errands, but it was great to see him and catch up on his transition from active duty to retirement.
“Seemed like a nice guy,” said Jim, glowering at a Yuppie elbow from the raucous crowd that was pressing into his back from the overflowing cocktail nook.
“He is among a the number of Great Americans I was privileged to know in the service,” I said, taking a sip from the tulip glass in front of me while one of the yuppies inserted himself between us to get Tink’s attention.
“Your story this morning was about nothing,” he said.
“Yeah,” I acknowledged with a guilty smerk. “I had to do a Seinfeld Socotra. I am taking a break from Red Baiting and polemics on Iran and Syria. And the phony scandals. The whole thing makes me sick. Tomorrow I think I am going to write about mayonnaise.”
Jim scowled. “I won’t read it,” he said firmly, and ladled a spoonful of Frank’s hot sauce over the halibut slider that serves as his evening repast at the Amen Corner.
You see, Tracey O’Grady normally presents the fish sliders with a side of tartar sauce, which I adore. It has a tangy pickle taste amplified by a rich white sauce. I like it so much I don’t order it- the fish and chips was a staple of mine for a couple years, but I have tried to turn the food thing around.
I strive to have a big breakfast, moderate lunch, and small dinner. Better If I can skip it altogether. All my life I had done it the other way around, and this seems to work- that and staying away from the carbs I love. Having a halibut slider with a side of Tracey’s tartar sauce is a moderate response to the inversion of calories, by my lights, anyway. But Jim just doesn’t like mayonnaise.
He is always quite specific about getting hot sauce on the side. There is a reason for that. Recently he was affronted when the kitchen staff produced a little container of Sriracho, the vaguely Asian hot sauce with the rooster on the label.
(Willow Executive Chef and co-owner Tracey O’Grady. Photo Socotra.)
I asked Tracey whether she made her own- it seemed like something she would do, as a culinary perfectionist, and she said “Yes, for some applications. But not for things like the Tartar sauce.”
“What sort of commercial mayo would you use?” I asked. I had recently moved away from Hellmann’s (“Bring out the Hellmann’s, and bring out your best!”) toward a new brand that looked interesting, Blue Plate. I found out, purely by accident, that an ominously-named conglomerate called “Corn Products International, Inc.” had acquired the brand name somewhere along the way to a 50% market share.
High Fructose Corn Syrup may be the single greatest threat to America’s security, far higher than global whatever or Iran, so naturally I started looking around for alternatives without a hint of it in the condiment.
Now, I have to tell you I was never a mayo purist. Big Mama was a Miracle Whip sort of cook, which is to say, whatever was convenient was good. Not that she was a bad cook, quite the contrary, but rather a expeditious one. She had other things to do besides stand in front of the range.
There are still evocative tastes- with peanut butter, for example, on a nice crust of bread, that is the essence of a comfort food of youth, before I discovered that just about everything is rigged, and for a lot of folks, there is no objective truth, just the situational kind. It is not that way with the mayonnaise.
I like to think my palate evolved even as my view of the world shifted to one of general suspicion. Miracle Whip to Hellmann’s to Blue Plate (“An excellent source of Omega 3!”) to Tracey’s magnificent tartar sauce.
Which is why I asked what she used, when she wasn’t whipping up her own.
“Duke’s,” she said firmly. “It is the best commercial mayonnaise on the market. They don’t use any added sugar in their recipe, which makes it a better platform for specialty sauces like our Tartar Sauce. It is sort of a regional thing, but I like it because it has a more traditional, less sweet taste than other commercial brands.
“Thanks, Tracey,” I said. “I will look into it.”
I did not recognize the brand from anything I had seen at the Commissary, so I did the research at home.
Mayonnaise is as old as the hills. The original, possibly from the Mediterranean, was a simple mixture of whisked olive oil and eggs. Sometimes mustard is included. There are a variety of origins cited in Wikipedia, which does not include my personal favorite.
Back in the days when Johnny Carson was the king of late-night TV, his amiable sidekick Ed McMahon advanced the proposition that his ancestors had created the creamy sauce after being expelled from Ulster by Queen Elizabeth in the great Plantation of Ireland.
Resettling in France, Ed claimed, his family created a creamy sauce was called “McMahonnaise,” which devolved to the term we use today.
I think that is probably nonsense, but I am in no position to disagree with the icons of the last century, any more than I could get Jay Carney to say the same lie twice the same way.
Our versions of the commercial sauce date from the time when Johnny and Ed were just gleams in the eyes of their old men. Hellmann’s dates to 1905, and a deli on Columbus Avenue in the Big Apple. Duke’s was created by Mrs. Eugenia Duke of Greenville, South Carolina, in 1917. As such, it is generally a regional brand, though discerning chefs like Tracey spread the word.
I was intrigued enough to search out Duke’s on the web, (http://www.dukesmayo.com/) and ordered one of their 32-oz. jars, which was delivered to Big Pink in a trice. Helman’s and Kraft have recently cut the size of their jars to 30 oz and boosted the price, so I grateful Duke’s has held the line. Very impressive service, and when I opened the jar, I realized Tracey was right.
But last night the Friday fever was a little overwhelming for the semi-retired crowd. Old Jim looked on dyspeptically at the crowd of yuppies that was actually touching him.
“I am going to have one more beer and get the hell out of here,” He declared, “Yuppie scum.” I thought that was a remarkably good idea.
“Hey, Tink!” I yelled down the bar, “Reinforcements, and the check!”
“The what?” asked Barrister Jerry, turning his attention back from the gazpacho, crispy spring rolls and the dark haired beauty to his right. “You are slurring your words.”
“What did you think I said?” I sputtered indignantly. “In that case, I might have two.”
Dukes Cole Slaw (by Vic)
Ingredients:
One bag thinly sliced cabbage (or slice it yourself)
One cup Duke’s Real Mayonnaise
One cup Cider vinegar
¼ cup cane sugar
Sea Salt and fresh ground pepper
Poppyseeds for emphasisis*
Directions:
Dump all the stuff in a bowl. Stir vigorously until well mixed or you get bored. Add more mayo if it looks too runny, more vinegar if it is too sweet or too bland, and more sugar if your lips pucker. Cover and let sit overnight. Stays good for just about as long as you need it to. Cabbage is a cruciferous vegetable, and it is just darn good for you.
* Not recommended for readers subject to random urinalysis.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter @jayare303