Mormons, Mothers and Mayonnaise
I am in Utah. Land of Mormons. What I did not know before I arrived is that it is also the land of mayonnaise. Those of you who have read my journals all along may remember that don’t “do” mayonnaise. I don’t like it at all. In fact, as a condiment, it kind of frightens me. It’s white. It’s gooey. It curdles if left to its own devices in the sun for too long. It just makes me queasy thinking about it. I have heard that there are women who use mayonnaise as a conditioner for their hair. Perhaps they see it as an all-purpose purchase. Throw it into the potato salad, throw it on your hair, slather it on the sandwich with the bologna. Saves money in the check-out line at the grocers. I think for me, I’d rather buy a proper hair conditioner and I’ll skip the bologna and potato salad all together.
But I’m here in Mormonland. Admission was granted by my sister whose daughter, my niece, is being baptized and confirmed. This means that there will be a big party to celebrate with all the relatives and anyone else who’d like to participate. And that means there will be lots of mayonnaise required. Because a party just isn’t a party if there isn’t mayonnaise involved.
My mother is also here. She is a big proponent of mayonnaise. I think her entire repertoire of food requires mayonnaise for every dish. On Friday morning when I woke up she and my sister were in the kitchen creating the menu for the gathering. And the associated grocery list. Atop the list? Two jars of mayonnaise. For the salads. And the burgers. And the casseroles. Heart attacks would be optional.
I begged that perhaps we could offer a healthier fare. No. Not acceptable for this crowd. They wouldn’t know what to do with it and would turn their noses up at such an offering. I was thankful I had gone to Whole Foods on my way from the airport. At least I would have organic cherries to snack on while everyone else was pushing their cholesterol levels off of the map.
Saturday morning my sister asked me to make the deviled eggs. Talk about doses of cholesterol! I was trying to figure out a way to make them without using the dreaded mayonnaise when I was also asked to make the baptism cake. Ahh. Something I can do! But then I was handed a cake mix in a box! A box! I haven’t used a cake mix in a box since, well, I can’t even remember when. I don’t do cake mixes in boxes. I explained this to my sister. I went to her “Armegeddon” closet and searched for the proper ingredients to make a cake from scratch. For those of you unfamiliar with Mormon customs, they have a closet in the basement (or some part of their house) stocked to the gills with everything you need to survive should disaster strike. I call this the Armegeddon Closet. There are shelves upon shelves of canned goods. Shelves upon shelves of flour and sugar. Five hundred gallon water tanks! Beans. Soups. Pasta. It’s a regular grocery store. But there was not to be found the proper ingredients for making a simple cake from scratch. Oh I had my choice of a gazillion cake mixes in boxes. Because we all know that when disaster strikes you’ll need your fill of cake to celebrate! And Jello! Don’t forget the Jello!
I managed to make the deviled eggs. I had to acquiesce and use the dreaded mayo. But only the littlest bit. I used mustard. I used lots of fun spices. And everyone was asking who made the eggs and could they get the recipe! Ahhh. Mormons who appreciated a little less mayonnaise. Perhaps I’ve found my calling! Changing the diets of those who are hooked on fat-ridden delicacies one devilish egg at a time!
I also managed to make the cake. And what a cake it was. It was BLUE! Because that’s what Heather wanted. A blue cake. With yellow, pink, blue and purple frosting. Quite the production. But she loved it. And so did anyone who ate it. And that is all that was important. Plus I managed to do it without a cake mix. Something my mother and sister are still talking about. No cake mix, no recipe. Just did that from your head? How???
I’m being too harsh, I think, aren’t I? I do love my sister dearly. I also love my mother. But what I don’t understand is how we all came out of the same gene pool. They eat mayonnaise. They eat eggs. They eat cake mixes from boxes and don’t think a thing of it. They think I’m bizarre with my requests to please go to the organic grocers. Juice is juice they say. A grape is a grape! Don’t be silly. Just eat it and be happy to have food on your plate.
And so I sit here. Among the Mormon faction of my family. Hoping beyond hope that those prayers in the temple and their holy ghost and spirit that they’re always calling forth will protect them from the mayonnaise that is surely clogging their arteries. I must admit that they have a wonderful life here in Utah. Relaxed, blessed, lovely. But I can’t help but wonder when they’ll all keel over from too much mayo!
