I think it was Nigella Lawson who wrote somewhere that making mayonnaise isn't hard if you don't think it's hard, but dare to think about the difficulty of what you're doing and it'll split every time. when I read this I recall being smug in the knowledge that I could already make allioli, mayonnaise and any kind of egg-emulsion I wanted; surely this is not a thing you can un-learn? wrong. time and the tyranny of short-term memory loss saw me produce several runny batches of garlic flavoured egg-mess which was not allioli or anything like it. the thing with such a failure is the ritual pollution associated with the raw egg. an egg is such an amazing, complex entity, but in the raw state it's suspended between categories, no longer animal, but not quite food until it's been modified, cooked, whisked, salted (unless you're one of those disturbed people who swears by a raw egg down the throat for a hangover)... so ruined allioli or split mayonnaise isn't just annoying, it's also somehow deeply ick.
my failures were caused primarily by my stubborn reliance on machines. I was sure machines had worked before, but I must have been deluded. neither the food processor nor the egg beater could make a proper emulsion of the consistency I wanted. my mixtures were either runny, or strangely aerated and bubbly. this was a given. everyone knows that food processors just can't do some things, instead they like to make glue. but I needed to prove it to myself just in case there really was an easy way out. and here I must insert a quick aside about how else I've been duped: my friend TJ got into a bit of Tupperware partying last year, and I piously refused to have anything to do with it, not just on ideological grounds but also because I have far too many plastic storage containers already. and then the other night while we were chatting in the kitchen she casually quarters an onion and puts it in a little blue device with a lid, gives the lid a few twists and then throws the perfectly diced onion into the salad.
"what's that nifty thing?", I ask.
"it's the Happy Chopper. it's Tupperware. of course, you wouldn't know about that since you didn't want to come to the parties.
"and that's not all", (she's not a kitchenware-televangelist, we'd just drunk quite a bit of Prosecco by then).
out comes another device, a big bowl with a lid and a handle. the thing has all sorts of attachments, one of them clearly for whipping cream and the like.
"you can also add this to the lid: it's a slow-drip pourer, so you can make mayonnaise. the oil drips in here while you turn the handle here."
my eyes narrow into slits.
"you were jealous", JG said later. "admit that you want Tupperware".
never. these recipes are in defence of the whisk.
my first attempt after those long-ago failures was Frank Camorra's allioli recipe in MoVida, followed exactly to the last letter. I knew this would work because 1) it's a new book of recently tested recipes with contemporary ingredient qualities and 2) I just love Frank, I think he's great. naturally success ensued; I had thick, lustrous allioli, gloriously golden, like the fabio of egg-emulsions. apart from the obvious textural benefit of hand whisking, the secret of this recipe is to make a very thick emulsion and then thin it with acid at the end, rather than starting with acid in the eggs and then adding oil. you do this:
whisk two finely chopped garlic cloves, a tablespoon of mustard and some salt into two egg yolks. have 300ml of oil ready, a combination of olive and sunflower or some other less flavoured oil (this is a concession to the milder tastes favoured by the Australian palette- Spaniards like their olive oil straight up). whisk as you add the oil drop by drop, making sure each addition is properly emulsified before adding more. once the business is underway you can safely add larger amounts of oil without a worry. taste for salt, and if you need to add more, dissolve it first in the 2 tablespoons of lemon juice which go in at the end. whisk this in to thin out the mixture a bit. Frank suggests whisking in 2 tablespoons of warm water to finish: he promises it's like a secret guarantee the emulsion won't split later. he's a star.
now, I love a juicy polemic, especially if it's about food, but you can't argue with Frank. unless you're Hervé This. Hervé is a physical chemist, and a wonderfully knowledgeable and nitpicky writer on everything food, including etymology. for one thing, he says, mayonnaise with mustard is not mayonnaise at all, it's remoulade. ok, Frank translates Spanish allioli as garlic mayonnaise, not exactly a crime against semantics. the real argument here is the lemon juice versus the oil first. I know that all my failures started with lemon juice, but Hervé says you need the lemon juice or vinegar in the egg yolks before you add the oil, because the volume of watery parts (lemon juice and egg yolk) is what helps the oil molecules separated by the whisking to swim around in the pond, get coated in the surfactants in the egg yolk, and never rejoin the other oil molecules in one big oily phase, forever suspended in the emulsion. but it’s not just about working in watery volume, there’s also electrical charges, making mayonnaise sound very dangerous indeed. acid environments increase the electrical charge of the surfactant molecules from the egg yolk which come to coat the droplets of oil. having the same electrical charge, the droplets repel each other, making them even less likely to reconnect with their own kind. all this talk of separating is confusing, when mayonnaise should be about joining, but actually it is just a suspension where oils and watery parts are tenuously hanging together in a rich, creamy goo.
but remoulade, the very mention of remoulade opens up a whole new world of egg-emulsions. why stop at garlic? remoulade can be virtually anything suspended in egg and oil, as long as it tastes and sounds delicious.
for a lamb-and-fish barbeque I wanted leek remoulade. and then I wanted basil remoulade. so I made an all-in-one affair. basil purists should make one or t'other, but the combination works. I think, however, it needs mustard and vinegar instead of lemon juice, but my sister is vinegar-phobic (I'm serious, she thinks it makes her face sweat?!) so both were off my list.
leek and basil remoulade
gently warm a finely chopped leek in a cup of oil for a minute or two, until it's just softened a little. it should still be slightly pungent and quite bright. the oil shouldn't really "fry" or bubble at all. cool the oil.
whisk 2 egg yolks with plenty of finely chopped garlic, ground mustard seeds, pepper and salt. gradually add half a cup of olive oil and half a cup of milder oil, whisking each addition until smooth. it should be quite thick.
add the leek and cooking oil and whisk until mixed.
add lemon juice, gradually thinning out the mixture little by little until you have the right consistency.
pound a large handful of basil leaves to a paste and add to the remoulade.
