A CRUNCHY GREEN EPIC

I was surprised by the amount that came out. Really, I thought there was FAR less in there than it turns out there was. It probably would have been all right if I had worn my glasses.

I had put down my glasses while making myself a sandwich, because there was shmutz on the lenses. And, as every one knows, that's not a good idea when you're working with knives.
Thinly carved meat from a hard dry peppery sausage?
No problem.
Bread cut to a uniform thickness?
No problem.
Four sliced jalapeños?
No problem.

Mayonnaise?

Disaster.


Why is there not enough mayonnaise in this jar? Should I go get some more before I finish making this tasty and nutritious snack? If I do, will that fruitfly that's lurking near the sink pollute my food while I'm gone? What diseases does he carry, and what have his six icky feet touched recently that I should worry about?

Fruits?

I'm a capable man, I can get the very last bit of mayonnaise out of this jar.
I am up to the challenge. A dry-cured meat and green chilli sandwich is nothing without mayonnaise; it is, perhaps, the essential ingredient. Mayonnaise is god's gift to the Dutch. And the Belgians. And perhaps the Danes. We NEED mayonnaise. Without it, we rust. Our joints go stiff, and we start creaking. We seize up and go rigid. Dry out, and crumble. Mayonnaise is food lubricant.

One of the most important things in life.

If I twirl the jar along the edge of the blade like so, the last inkling of that precious substance will be harvested. The trick is in the spinning, with a very precise sequence of graduated angles moving the tip of the blade progressively further up the inside wall of the jar, leaving nearly clear glass in its wake. Success is always in the details, smooth and speedy rotation is key. One must even press a bit, so that the ghost-whisper of glass against metal may be heard.

One should wear one's damned glasses when performing delicate manoeuvres. That way nothing goes flying up and off at high speed.
The centrifugal force was sufficient to jettison mayonnaise all over.

Well, not actually all over. Just into certain parts of the kitchen.
Areas which had never even seen mayonnaise before.
And which should not have seen it.

Places from which it proved difficult to remove.
That fruit fly had a field day.

I got mayonnaise on my glasses.

They were lying in the wrong spot.

There was more there than I thought.

Perhaps I should have added a few more sliced jalapeños to the sandwich. Could've got by with less mayo, and it still would've been juicy. Certainly crunchier and snappier as well.
Years ago, when I lunched on greasy burgers fried up by the food truck in the parking lot outside the computer company, I habitually brought six, seven, or eight jalapenos with me every day just to make the grub edible. Chilies are a green vegetable, and also excellent for the digestion.
I wouldn't have trusted food truck mayo if you paid me.
But the chilies were absolutely essential.
Most nutritious part, too.

And now that I think about it, I realize that that is what the Dutch need.
And also the Belgians. As well as the Danes. Jalapeños!
They'd never touch mayonnaise again.
No more dyspepsia.
Satori.



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