Some jobs should be easier than they turn out to be, and I put making mayonnaise in that category.
All you need, they say, is eggs, mustard, vinegar, salt, a bit of lemon and a lot of optimism.
When that optimism ingredient starts to run low, it raises the question, why not pop down to the supermarket and buy a jar of mayo? Let's call that Plan B. It's a fair question and a good option because chances are you've run out of eggs by that stage which leads to another question: Why couldn't Plan B have been Plan A in the first place?
I'll tell you why! Because you have pride, and it can't be that hard, and they reckon the home-made stuff is better. Hard to say why. Possibly they like watching unskilled people create lots of extra washing up.
That's the most obvious thing at the end of what is typically an emotional, oil and egg-spattered journey which pushes multiple kitchen appliance motors to the brink of burnout, along with your soul.
The trick to making home-made mayo, as anyone who's tried and failed knows, is heavy duty alcohol. It helps numb the pain of repeated disappointment.
Just kidding. No, the trick is mixing egg and oil into a smooth and praise-worthy goo (emphasis on the Plan B-cum-Plan A product reference there).
Emulsification is the critical DIY scientific process you're aiming for. Akin to enriching uranium as both can lead to meltdown. Achieved by whisk, stick blender and then food processor in cascading order of desperation. Perhaps you could try a centrifuge.
No matter how long I agitate, the usual outcome is a runny liquid that refuses to thicken but pours mighty well down a drain.
This of course is an unsustainable practice if you only have a dozen eggs.
I therefore recommend getting some chickens before you embark. See if they can lay yolk-only eggs too, because the importance of egg white in the so-called "fail-proof whole-egg" process is debatable.
More like "whole lot of eggs" given the only credible rescue plan if things go thin seems to be "add another egg". Also make sure everything is room temperature (most notably your attitude), that the bowl is clean, don't over process, don't add the oil too fast, don't add too much oil - maybe just don't.
Turns out there's multiple fail moments in this "simple" recipe, which they never point out until the end, which signals the beginning of that journey mentioned earlier.
To the supermarket, where you re-stock on oil, eggs and resolve. You could buy a jar of mayo too. Economically, that would make sense. But sense stopped the moment you started down this slippery and somewhat messy slope. It's now all about bloody-minded determination.
"This thing isn't going to beat me," you mumble. "I am the beater in this recipe." (Just ask my food processor. It's copped a hell of a beating.) In fact, it's hard to erase that whirring sound from your mind after a while. Even when it's not on.
But that's what making mayo can do to you. You got to whip it good, before it whips you. Whzzzzzz Whzzzzz Whzzzzzzz!'
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