Mayo Label Collection: Israel

Today’s post elaborates on Israeli Mayonnaise, Russian roots, and Kasher dangers.

Is1. Lina. Israel, March 2015. 430 gr.; 10.5 shekels (€ 2.50).

The Jewish population of Israel can largely be divided into two groups: those of Sephardic origins, who came from Spain and Germany, and the Azkhenazi, from the Slavic lands in Eastern Europe. It is this latter group which seems to dominate the Israeli Mayonnaise scene. Witness the present and the next label.

Lina is – as the only easily readable phrase on the label proudly proclaims – made according to a ‘Russian homemade recipe’, by which surely is meant a Russian recipe for homemade Mayo. But its deeper origins are actually Lithuanian, as I was assured by my good friend Professor Simon Hopkins, who took this bottle along for me from Jerusalem when we met in Lisbon, and provided me with a basic translation of the Ivrit text (unfortunately too long to reproduce here).

Lina was a truly fine Mayo, which over time developed beautifully. For it is with Mayonnaise as with cheese: the substance ripens on prolonged contact with the air; which sometimes turns out for the better, and sometimes turns into a science project by Fu Manchu. In this case, the last spoonfuls were even more delicious than the first; so that I can confidently say that – if only I lived in Israel, Lithuania or Russia – Lina would be one of my preferred brands!

Is2. Provansal Mayonez. Israel, March 2015. 450 grams, no price

Yet one more gift from Simon and Yehudit Hopkins; and yet another product with a Lithuanian pedigree. Yet this time, the Russian influence impresses itself with even more insistence upon the Baltic basis, seeing that this sauce is presented as ‘Provansal’. No: this is not some Geographical Confusion in the Babylonian way! The Mayo has nothing to do with the region around Arles, Aix-en-Provence and the Bouches-du-Rhône; the name is merely a favourite qualification in Russian cuisine, as labels R4, R5 and R6 elsewhere in this collection will show. Why the Russians would prefer their Mayo from this distant, out-of-the-way district remains a mystery. Surely there is a little Napoleon involved, and Russian émigrés, and chefs seduced over from Paris and the Côte d’Azur. But how this came about precisely still needs to be discovered by our scholars.

Unfortunately we did not get to taste this brand, as the large glass jar could not be taken along while travelling. So I am unable to provide any information on its gastronomic virtues or vices.

Is3. Telma. Israel, March 2015. 250 grams, no price

And the last of the three gracious gifts brought to me by my dear friends Simon and Yehudit. Sad to say, they made this grand effort - schlepping jars of oily substances through innumerable security checks, hauling them to hotels in their already heavy backpacks, storing them in the mini bar of the hotel room and guarding them with their lives against the all too easily tempted Portuguese chambermaids – only to deliver a most lamentable culinary experience to the Mayonnaise connoisseur I pride myself to be…

For what is the truth? The jar of this brand is made of plastic. The lid is made of plastic. The label itself is plastic! So what do you figure this ‘Telma Genuine Mayonnaise’ tastes like? Yeah, right, you guessed it: it has a vague, saddening, but inescapable aftertaste of… plastic!

That said, as labels go, it is of course worth its weight in gold to the true collector. How often does one score a Mayo label which one cannot possibly read? And which, once translated by the same dear friend who brought you the bottle, reveals itself to be almost as impenetrable as the Kabala itself? For this is not just ANY Mayo you see here, reader: it is a certified Kasher Mayo! For as the label tells (some of) us: it was produced under the strictest supervision of the Chief Rabbinate of Haifa and of the Rabbinical Court in Jerusalem, who together guarantee that the sauce is ‘parve’ (i.e. free of all milk and meat) and that it is ‘without suspicion of tevel and shevi’th’. Which, I have no doubt, comes as a great relief to all of you…

Or does it? Once, many years ago, when living in Amsterdam, I was invited for a Sunday dinner with friends, but had forgotten to buy a bottle of wine to bring to the party. This was at a time when shops in Amsterdam were still strictly forbidden to open on Sunday's, except, of course, this one little Jewish delicatessen up in the Utrechtsestraat, at a stone’s throw from my residence (as it was Jewish, the shop naturally closed on Saturdays). So off I went, and asked for wine; and Lo and Behold, they had some marvellous bottles, one of which I bought. I took it to the dinner party, and just as we were about to drink it, somebody took a look at the label, read it out, and stopped in mid-sentence. It turned out to be Kasher wine, and on the label a most respectable Rabbi declared solemnly that due to the correct treatment of the ingredients, there was absolutely no risk of…

קורא יקר של עברית: אין לי שום מושג מה זה משפט נראה, אז אנא סלח לי

A long silence followed at that dinner table. The fact that we had no idea WHAT risk exactly we were guaranteed not to run, triggered rather than relieved our anxiety, and the notion that, for all we could tell, the Hebrew line might spell something like: ‘True believers do not drink! Leave this poison to the Goyim!’, inspired us to partake only most cautiously of the first few sips, everybody looking at the others to see if perhaps they would develop a horrible diarrhoea, or levitate, or turn into a frog…

Of course nobody did, and it was excellent wine. But it just goes to show: it is not always a good thing to be so well-informed in a language that is Greek to you…

Mayo Label Collection: Saudi Mayonnaise (preview)

مايونيز

My faithful friend and fellow blogger Ms Azra Ali is as good as her word. Barely had she heard that the Marvellous Mittington Mayonnaise Label Collection was shamefully deficient in labels from Islamic countries, or she promised to try to fix the matter with some items from Saudi Arabia, where at present she resides. And Lo and Behold: not a week later old Alfred received the first pictures, taken by Smartphone in a Supermarket (Yes, dear reader: these decadent modernist gadgets occasionally serve a purpose worthy of better centuries!)

Kindly find below the pictures that she shared with all of us Mayonnaise lovers. As I have not been able to sample these sauces, my commentary must needs be brief, and concentrate on externals and packaging. And in that context, I may say that Saudi supermarkets are obviously just as bonkers as supermarkets in the rest of the world. On a single shelf, in a single shop, what do we find but Lemon Mayonnaise, Black Pepper Mayonnaise, Garlic Mayonnaise, Tikka Mayonnaise, ‘Lite’ Mayonnaise, and an enigmatic concoction labelled Mayochup of whose precise composition even my notorious curiosity is in no hurry to discover the seedy details (by the looks of it is contains tomato juice, so that would make it cocktail sauce without the – prohibited - whisky?)

‘And Mayonnaise, Alfred?’ I hear you ask. ‘Just the plain, honest, true, pure, authentic, dignified and delicious Sauce that served our Fathers and their Fathers before them? Do not Saudi supermarkets sell that??’

Well yes, dear reader, they do. But the ludicrous heights of Supermarket culinary perversion shows in the fact that they need to label that pure and honest product ‘Original’ Mayonnaise… As if it were something Sóóóóó 90s, so totally passé, stuffy stuff only good for old timers and folks who carry no Smartphone!

There is, dear reader, Original Sin. And there is Original Camembert and Champagne (i.e. from the region itself). But there is no ‘Original Mayonnaise’. There is Mayonnaise, tout court, pur sang. And then there are the mad abusive things that cynical manufacturers, unstopped by a conscience or the Diktats of the otherwise overregulating European Union, do to that Harmless Manna…

What else? Well: one thing to observe is the typical local fares and victuals depicted on the labels. In Saudi Arabia, Mayonnaise seems to be destined mainly for hamburgers, but we also find bites that look remarkably like Spanish croquetas and deep-fried shrimp, while – rather surprisingly – the Garlic Mayonnaise label suggests that its contents ought to be eaten with French Fries, which – not counting the garlic – is a typical Dutch tradition. There are also a few dishes which for the love of me I cannot place or recognize, but possibly Ms Azra can shed some light on those.

And talking of Light: one of these topsy-turvy plastic bottles actually contains a rather neat – if accidental – jeu de mots. The ‘Lite’ Mayonnaise, a marketing madness meant to lend people the illusion they can eat their Mayo and have a bathing suit body too, is produced by a brand named ‘Noor’. Now ‘Noor’ in Arabic means Light, as in illumination. But of course Lite (as in featherweight) really ought to be written ‘Light’ as well in any spelling worthy of Shakespeare’s language. So that here we are offered Light Light Mayonnaise… Is that overdoing it? Oh well, A Rose is a Rose is a Rose by any other name, Rite?

Enough! With a little luck, in the near future, Alfred B Mittington will be in a position to offer you some more interesting details as to the State of Mayo in the Kingdom of Saud.

PS Oh, talking about dumb labels, allow me to point out one more hilarious example. The ‘American Garden US Mayonnaise’ proudly shouts at the customer that is was ‘Born in the USA’. How, I wonder, is a sauce ever BORN? Mayonnaise comes from an egg, and eggs are not born. So the phrase really ought to read: ‘Laid in the USA!’ And why oh why, I wonder, did the yankee manufacturer not write THAT on his label??