I just went to the refrigerator to gather the goods to make a nice sammich. I had some tomatoes that I snatched out of my neighbor's garden this morning. Without permission. They're on vacation and I am feeding their dogs, which I figure gaves me full rights to anything that strikes my fancy. Like fresh produce. And swimming in their pool.
So I'm at the fridge. Here we have the remains of the fat chicken I baked last night. Some honey mustard? Sure, why not. Now I need my mayonnaise. Where is my mayonnaise? WTF is this jar with a blue top? OMG. This is my husband's fault. The man has no tastebuds.
There are only a few items about which I am brand specific. Mayo pretty much tops the list. Lots of people have preferences about foods, but people tend to have issues about mayo. Aren't you particular about your mayo? If not, you're a freak.
Moving on. There are the Hellman's people. The Kraft people. And, bless them, the (whispering) Miracle Whip people. I'm none of these. A good Southern girl, I am a DUKE'S girl. No substitutions allowed.
Once when we were at my grandmother's, I made a sandwich for my sister Lisa, who is a worse mayo snob than I. She took one bite and declared, "This is NOT Duke's!" But since she had a mouthful of sandwich, which she was refusing to chew, it sounded like "Vif if OT ooks!" Did I mention that she can make a disgusted face better than anyone I know? The entire effect was as comical as I intended. See, I'd found an inferior bread spread in Grandma's fridge and thought I'd test Lisa. I was young at the time, and somewhat mean.
Sad I am for the people who live "away" and do not have access to either Duke's or the only acceptable substitute, my Aunt Bernice's homemade mayo. Since Aunt Bernice (pronounced "Burn-us" not "Bur-niece") died last year at the age of 102, I'm afraid she's out of the mayo-making business. So Duke's it is. Forever.
(pulls fresh jar from fridge and licks up the side in a display of true adoration)