Arnaud’s Mayonnaise

When I was studying abroad during college, I spent a year in Bordeaux, France, where I lived with a lovely family: mother, father, brother, sister, and a cat named Apricot. The mother, a former translator who spoke better English than most Americans, was also a fabulous cook; my first meal there was so good that I fought off the heavy fatigue of jet lag, as they cracked wise, offering me a toothpick, then explaining that it was to prop up my eyelids. Being less of a stereotype, she taught both her children to cook. Her daughter, Ariane, who ended up being one of my closest friends, took after her mother in this regard; cats don't make dogs, after all. Arnaud, the history buff who spoke German, English, and French, took after his father in this area, save for his mayonnaise.

It was an opus for your taste buds.

Even his mother and sister stood aside, perhaps a little jealously, perhaps a little reluctantly, but always very gratefully, to let him make it. And make it he did while they stood by, like two race car drivers watching a kid speed around the racetrack on his Big Wheel at 180mph, all the while thinking: but we trained him!

How he turned raw egg yolks, olive oil, white wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, and table salt into a condiment worthy of everything from ambrosia to tacos shall also remain a mystery. After a lifetime as the Dellu family's reigning Mayonnaise King, Arnaud succumbed to cancer on the 22nd of November, 2021, and the secret, one of many, died with him.

Ave atque vale, frater.