Duke's Mayo Rules!
Sometime during Summer 2001, I spied Duke's-brand mayonnaise in a Nashville-area Albertson's grocery store (Albertson's is no longer doing business in Tennessee). I remember thinking, "I've never seen that before," and I moved on to look for whatever I was looking for on the mayo 'n' sich aisle.
Not two weeks later, a co-worker and I were having a conversation about homegrown tomatoes. Said co-worker told me that he loved tomato sandwiches with black pepper and -- Duke's mayo! "What's so great about Duke's?" I asked. My Duke's-loving ami said, and I'm paraphrasing, "It's the best *@#&$! mayonnaise on the !$&#@* planet!"
Having great confidence in my co-worker's tastes, I purchased a small jar of Duke's when next I found myself in Albertson's. It took me a good two weeks to do so, but I finally placed a dollop of Duke's on a sandwich I'd toted to work. As soon as my tongue was introduced to Duke's mayo, I said to myself, "Duke's IS the best *@#&$! mayonnaise on the !$&#@* planet!" Hell, I may've even said such out loud.
At this point, I'm sure men who've gotta eat wanna know what's so all-fired great about Duke's Mayonnaise. Well, I'll tell you:
Most store-bought mayos have a common problem: a tangy, vinegary taste that overwhelms foodstuffs on which or in which they've been placed. Duke's mayo ain't like that. Indeed, Duke's has a rich, creamy flavor with not a hint of "tang"; and Duke's enhances flavors in much the same way as heavy cream enhances sauces. That is, Duke's incorporates into foods, instead of being something that garnishes food.
I have six years of Duke's-eatin' experience under, er, over my belt; and I reckon that I've placed Duke's on many dozens of sandwiches and in dozens of bowls of tater salad. Thus, I consider myself a Duke's expert -- and then some. Believe me when I say (and I say it a lot):
Duke's ... is ... the ... best ... mayo ... ever! And it's Southern-made, to boot!
(In Nashville, look for Duke's mayo at your local Publix or Food Lion.)
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