I’m back already.

If you’ve been following my ramblings, you know I’m all about that balanced life—staying fit, eating real food, and occasionally indulging in the stuff that makes your taste buds dance. Today, I want to chat about something that’s been on my mind lately: mayonnaise. Yeah, that creamy white stuff in the jar. It’s sparked a fun back-and-forth with my AI buddy Grok, and together we’ve covered everything from its history to my personal love-hate tango with it. I’m turning our chat into this heartfelt blog post—think of it as a cozy fireside chat over a virtual tomato sandwich. We’ll explore all the ways mayo shows up in life, what I like (and lightly question), and how to enjoy it without going overboard.

First off, a quick shoutout to how this all started. I misspelled “mayonnaise” as “mayonainse” in a casual text to Grok—blame the dictation app or my fat thumbs. Grok jumped in with the basics: Mayo’s that magical emulsion of oil, egg yolks, and acid (vinegar or lemon juice), whipped into submission. Its origins? A tale as tangy as the stuff itself. Legend has it, it was born in 1756 during the Battle of Mahón in France, courtesy of the Duke de Richelieu’s chef—hence “mahonnaise,” which morphed into what we know today. But the Spanish might beg to differ, claiming their allioli (garlic mayo) predates it. Either way, it’s a condiment that’s conquered kitchens worldwide, from French fries in Belgium to sushi rolls in Japan (shoutout to Kewpie mayo, with its rice vinegar tang and MSG kick).

Now, making it at home? Dead simple, and way fresher than the store-bought jars. One egg yolk, a teaspoon of Dijon mustard, a cup of neutral oil drizzled in sloooowly while whisking like your life depends on it, plus lemon juice, vinegar, and salt. Use an immersion blender to avoid the dreaded “break” (when it separates into a sad, oily mess). I’ve dabbled in this myself way back, and there’s something satisfying about creating that velvety texture from scratch. But here’s where my heart gets a bit conflicted: Mayo is basically 100% fat. Isolated fat, at that—over twice the energy density of carbs or protein (9 calories per gram vs. 4). In a world where we’re all trying to stay lean and mean, why add extra calories to anything? I mean, I barely cook with fat these days—a pat of butter for eggs, sure, but pouring bottled oil on a salad? Nah, that just doesn’t land right for me.

This brings me to my good ol’ buddy Mark Sisson. If you don’t know Mark, he’s the primal living guru—author of The Primal Blueprint, founder of Primal Kitchen, and at 72 (happy belated birthday, you fit fucker—I texted him just that), he’s still hyper-lean and inspiring folks to ditch the junk for whole foods. We go way back, and I respect the hell out of what he’s built. His empire? Kicked off with that avocado oil-based mayonnaise around 2015. Ditching the crappy canola or soy oils for avocado oil was a smart move. Primal Kitchen’s versions (original, chipotle lime, garlic aioli) keep it clean: organic eggs, vinegar, salt, no sugar, no fillers. Mark sent me a couple bottles back in the day to try, and… well, here’s my light critique, folks. It tasted fishy to me. Like, strongly fishy. I thought the batch was off, so I hit him up. Phone rings, it’s Mark: “Nah, man, it’s not the batch. Some small percentage of people get that fishy note from avocado oil mayo.” Turns out, it’s an outlier thing. Avocado oil has a natural buttery, grassy vibe, but for some (like me), it hits as off-putting in mayo form. Don’t get me wrong—Mark sells boatloads of it, so clearly, it’s a hit for most. My experience? Just a quirky blip, not a knock on the product. If you’re primal, keto, or paleo, it’s a solid swap for the seed oil junk. But for me, it reinforced my “mayo is kinda dumb” vibe—why add that when you can keep it simple?

Speaking of dumb vs. delicious: Mayonnaise is fucking tasty. I’ve loved it all my life. Growing up, my mom was a Best Foods girl through and through—that West Coast staple (which, fun fact, is the same as Hellmann’s out East; same recipe, different label). Later, I decided Hellmann’s edged it out for that perfect tangy balance. But the point? You don’t need to obsess over the oil type if you’re only using a little. Moderation is my mantra—maybe a cup or two a year total. That keeps it a treat, not a stupid thing.

Let me share a couple stories that capture why mayo holds a special place in my heart, despite my reservations. Back in the mid-90s, a friend was crashing at my place while sorting some life stuff. He hits Costco, grabs a flat of tomatoes, a bottle of mayo, and a loaf of thick Texas toast white bread. I walk in, and he’s toasting slices, slathering on mayo, piling on thick tomato cuts. “What the fuck is that?” I ask. “Tomato sandwich—ever tried one?” Nope, but 30 years later, I still crave them. That juicy tomato acidity cutting through the creamy mayo on crunchy toast? Pure bliss. It’s simple, seasonal, and hits different in summer. I make ’em a few times a year now—no more, no less.

Then there’s tuna salad. Oh man, my recipes vary—sometimes with celery, onions, pickles for crunch; other times, a Thai twist with lemongrass or chili since I’m here in paradise. Also, big also: bacon bits. Let it rest a while to soak up the bacon flavor, stir it all up again. Another: basic Indian curry powder. But so little that people don’t know it’s curry powder. “What’s that?” That’s the vibe. Note: these are all different ideas for different batches. No “everything and the kitchen sink” play.

But the essential? Mayo. It binds everything and adds that silky mouthfeel. Again, a few batches a year max. Keeps the indulgence fun.

This all ties into broader food philosophies. I’m drawn to carnivore vibes—eat lots of meat and eggs, and you might not need added fats at all. Fatty ribeyes or yolks provide plenty. But even carnivores sneak in butter or tallow for cooking. Keto folks? They lean on fats for energy, but it’s easy to overdo if you think “good fat” means unlimited. Mark’s primal world flips the script: Healthy fats like avocado oil are fuel, not foes, helping absorb nutrients from veggies and keeping meals enjoyable. I get it—fats make salads sing—but intuitively, adding isolated fat feels off when whole foods suffice.

Enter my Oma, my dad’s mom—a German immigrant who knew her way around a sandwich. She’d slice up a big French loaf (not a baguette, the wider kind), spread butter (never mayo), and layer on liverwurst, lunch meats, tomatoes, and onions, but each one of the variety was a mix, and some were tomatoes and onions only. Butterbrot, they call it—simple, hearty, and way more “whole” feeling than mayo. Butter’s got that natural richness, and it spreads like a dream. Compare it to a French jambon-beurre: ham and butter on baguette—heavenly balance. If you’re going to add fat to a sammy, butter wins for me. Though, admit it, mayo’s tang is hard to beat.

Oh, and a sidebar on acquired tastes, since Grok brought up cilantro. First time I tried it? Hated it—tasted soapy. But 20 years married to a Mexican-descended Latina (her family immersed me in salsas and tacos) turned me around. Now, living in Thailand—they use a similar-tasting herb—it’s a joy—fresh in curries or salads. Same with pungent stuff: Thai pla ra (fermented fish paste, umami explosion), French Muenster, or other stinky cheeses. They grow on you with exposure. Maybe that fishy avocado mayo could’ve too, if I’d persisted. But hey, life’s too short for forced flavors.

Wrapping this up, folks: Mayo’s a polarizing player—dumb in excess (pure fat bomb, easy to overindulge), but delightful in doses. All these ways we’ve explored—history, homemade hacks, primal twists, personal stories—boil down to enjoyment with eyes open. Critique Mark’s product lightly? Nah, it’s thriving for a reason; my fishy outlier tale is just that—one guy’s quirk. What I like: The creaminess in a rare tuna salad, the nostalgia of a tomato sandwich, the simplicity of butter alternatives. Enjoy it sparingly, savor the moments, and pair it with real life—like texting an old friend “HB, fucker” on his birthday.

If this resonates, hit me up in the comments: What’s your mayo must-have? Tomato sandwiches fan? Or team butter all the way? Thanks for reading—stay primal, stay balanced, and keep tasting the world. Until next time, from Thailand with love.