We’re living in the golden age of mayonnaise

Going to the grocery store these days can feel like a minor existential crisis. The price tags are higher than they should be, the inescapable muzak drones on and at my local supermarket, it seems as though a quiet conspiracy is afoot. Nearly every checkout lane once manned by a cashier is now closed, leaving a vast, eerie expanse of empty aisles where humans used to stand. Instead, we’re all left with the self-checkout, a quietly menacing reminder of a world where automation reigns.

And yet, amidst this corporate disillusionment, there’s the mayonnaise aisle. If you look closely, it’s almost beautiful.

Now, before you think I’m losing my grip entirely, hear me out. Mayonnaise, with its thick, creamy opacity, has long been the subject of ridicule. The very name conjures images of sweltering summer picnics, soggy sandwiches and a kind of lowbrow indulgence we don’t like to admit we enjoy. For many, it’s the condiment equivalent of an unfashionable uncle at a wedding — always present, but never the center of attention.

But what if I told you that mayonnaise, in its full, unapologetic glory, is having a renaissance? Yes, we are living in the golden age of mayonnaise and those of us with discerning taste are lucky to bear witness to it.

I know, I know — this may sound like the ramblings of a condiment devotee. And perhaps, in part, it is. My fridge, a constantly evolving experiment in emulsification, is home to a rotating selection of mustards, hot sauces and sandwich spreads (full disclosure: I once had a column devoted entirely to this obsessive passion called “Saucy”). But the thing is, this isn’t just about my personal affinity for creamy, acidic spreads.

It’s about the cultural moment we’re in: mayonnaise is not only everywhere — it’s better than it’s ever been.

Once a rare find in specialty stores or Asian markets, Kewpie mayonnaise has now taken its rightful place on the shelves of every major supermarket chain, right beside Heinz. The Japanese brand — with its thick, velvety texture and hint of umami — was once something you’d hunt for like a rare treasure. Now, it’s as ubiquitous as any other pantry staple. And it’s not alone. Regional brands, like Duke’s — so long a Southern secret — are now creeping into the mainstream, appearing on shelves nationwide. You don’t have to be from Charleston to appreciate its rich, tangy kick.

Then there’s the whole other wave: the artisan mayonnaise makers, those alchemists who’ve transformed a simple spread into an expressive canvas. I’ve recently found jars of mayo infused with giardiniera, yuzu kosho, chili crisp and even truffle oil. These are not your average store-bought condiments. They’re an invitation to rediscover a humble classic and elevate it into something remarkable.

Even chefs are getting in on the act. Molly Baz—who, with her signature casual style, has made an entire brand out of the stuff—has cast mayonnaise as a cult favorite with her Ayoh, featuring four flavors: original, hot giardinayo, dill pickle mayo and dijonnayo  . She’s a kind of mayonnaise evangelist, spreading the gospel of creamy richness in dishes that range from roasted vegetables to a simple grilled cheese. It’s no longer a condiment of the past; it’s one of the future.

Mayonnaise, in its purest form, is a shortcut to flavor. At its base, it’s a harmonious blend of salt, fat and acid, three of the very elements that Samin Nosrat identifies as the pillars of great cooking. The richness of the egg yolk and oil provides the fat, while vinegar or lemon adds the acidity and just a touch of salt rounds everything out. From there, it’s a playground for flavor — add some citrus for brightness, a dash of heat for complexity or a handful of herbs for freshness. Suddenly, you’ve got not just a condiment, but the foundation for an endless array of possibilities: a tangy sauce, a creamy sandwich spread, an unexpected marinade (yes, really) or the essential dressing for a vibrant chicken salad.

Which brings me to my favorite current mayo (other than the fennel mayo from the pizza joint down the road): giardiniera-infused mayo. Now, I’ve lived in Chicago three times and while the reasons for coming back have varied, one constant remains: giardiniera. If you’ve never had it, giardiniera is a spicy, pickled vegetable mix, and it’s an essential part of the Chicago food landscape. But when paired with mayonnaise? It's a condiment dream team. The creamy richness of the mayo complements the sharp tang and spice of the giardiniera, transforming any dish it touches. Local brands like Giardonnaise and chefs like Molly Baz know the power of this combo. It’s no wonder—it’s a flavor punch that works every time.

Perhaps this is what it takes to make us notice — what’s old becoming new again, but this time with an extra kick. Mayonnaise is the antidote to some of the stripped-down, minimalist food trends of the past decade. In an era obsessed with purity and restraint, mayonnaise is unashamedly rich, indulgent, and yes, fun.