Thanks to fellow Bay Area News Group blogger Tony Hicks I learned about this horrific mayonnaise-related atrocity. Caution, this is not for the faint of heart. And I fear the world may never, EVER be safe.

Is that I love Saxton Freymann and Joost Elffers.

Who wouldn’t?

I wish my job was to scour the markets for “expressive produce.”

– Jenny Slafkosky

In a Sept. 19 article on Slate.com, Paul Levy writes about the state of machismo in current day food writing. What do you think? Is there too much testosterone in the kitchen?

Once a month, usually during the first week, I begin to search the front porch longingly. Each morning when I leave for work, and each evening when I return, I scan the brick walkway, peer behind the columns and potted plants, check and double check the bushes, hoping my fix has arrived.

My fix is bacon. Each month it comes swaddled in ice packs and styrofoam from The Grateful Palate. You see, I am a proud member of the Bacon of the Month Club. A different artisan bacon, sometimes rubbed with black pepper, other times spiked with maple, or more often just plain, graces my table every month. The membership was a birthday gift from some friends who know me just a little too well. My inagural shipment also included:
• A Bacon of the Month Club Membership Card
• A ballpoint pen with a small light-up pig on the end
• A tiny pink plastic pig
• A GIANT (they ran out of smalls) Bacon Geek t-shirt, complete with silkscreened strip of bacon protruding from the pocket — pocket protector style.
• A rubber pig nose that is oh so fetching.

I’m amazed at how quickly that pound of bacon disappears each month. It always seems like it’s been longer than just four weeks since my last shipment has arrived. My next shipment arrives the week of Oct. 8. I’m not sure if I can wait that long.

The best part about The Grateful Palate (beyond the bacon, obviously) is that you can get all sorts of bacon-related memorabilia there too — bacon air fresheners, bacon gift wrap, a pig-shaped bottle stopper. They have other stuff too: a wine club; artisan honey, olive oil and hot sauce; coffee and gift baskets. But it’s the bacon that’s made me a believer. I think it will make you one too. If you need me I’ll be on the front porch…waiting. — Jenny Slafkosky

I know you’re suspicious, I was too. But I’m here to tell you that Metromint water is really, seriously good stuff. Good enough, in fact, to buy by the case at Bevmo. Good enough to drink at a fancy dinner party. Or at the park. Or while vacuuming the hallway. It’s so good that it inspired me to write this haiku:

Wet, cool and minty
like a waterfall of fresh
taste, hydrate me now

Now if only I could get the LemonMint flavor to come out of my tap….

– Jenny Slafkosky

This is culinary sacrilege, I know, but I have to tell you: I hate mayonnaise. Hate it.

I understand that it’s a classic French sauce and that this terrifying emulsion of egg yolks and oil brings much-needed moisture to the all-American sandwich. I also understand that not liking (oh I mean hating) mayonnaise may, in some circles, be viewed as unpatriotic, a sin against one’s country and one’s people.

I don’t care, if you touch me with that stuff I’ll kill you.

I don’t know when it started because I can’t remember a single time when I thought mayonnaise was good. In junior high, I had a nightmare about a friend chasing me with a jar of mayonnaise. I avoid entire genres of food (potato salad, deli counter sandwiches) because I fear it so much.

Mayonnaise loving “friends” (I put “friends” in quotes because you never know when a mayo lover will turn on you) wax philosophically about the stuff, claiming it is some sort of nectar of the gods. One such “friend,” who will remain nameless, refers to mayo as “egg and oil pudding” because it’s so good he wants to eat it with a spoon. Gaack. Not only do I not want to eat it, I don’t even want it to touch my skin.

Just days ago, a friend was driving down the highway and saw a Jetta with a bumper sticker that read “Mayonnaise is the Devil” and called to see if the driver was me. I wish I knew where to get that sticker…Google hasn’t helped.

Throughout my life mayo lovers have tried to convince me that I’m crazy. “Just try homemade mayonnaise once and you’ll love it,” they’d smile, their lips glistening with eggy oiliness.

I’ve tried homemade mayo, even made it myself, and trust me, there’s nothing good about it.

Don’t believe me? There’s a Worldwide I Hate Mayonnaise club (you can get a printable membership certificate here) started by Honolulu Star Bulletin columnist Charles Memminger. There are myspace and tribe anti-mayo groups and NoMayo.com is dedicated to the glory of all condiments, except one.

Of course, in the interest of being fair (OK, just a little fair, mayo is still gross) I should also mention that there are plenty of people out there who love mayonnaise. (Thank goodness, we haters also have our own shirts.)

The divide between mayo lovers and mayo haters is so great that former Bay Area News Group reporter Elizabeth Jardina even wrote about it in 2005.

So the question remains: To love, or not to love. I say May-NO! What do you say?

– Jenny Slafkosky

After reading Michael Pollan’s book “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” I became intrigued, no obsessed, with pastured eggs. Beyond “free range,” pastured eggs come from chickens that eat all their food out in the pasture. They forage, picking grubs out of the ground (and out of cow pies), nibbling on seeds and even grasses. With a diverse diet and lots of fresh air (did you know that to be called “free range” chickens just have to have a door to the outdoors in their coop, they don’t actually have to be let outside) the pastured chickens lay eggs which have deep orange, sometimes almost red, yolks that have a high level of vitamin E.

After learning from Pollan’s book that even buying “organic” and “free range” eggs didn’t necessarily mean the hens were living in healthy conditions (many are still de-beaked and confined in small cages, never seeing the light of day) I became convinced that I needed to try pastured eggs. Luckily, when I was shopping for a CSA I found Live Earth Farm which offers pastured eggs along with lots of delicious veggies and fresh fruits in their weekly basket.

My first pastured egg was a revelation. The white was firm, an indication of freshness, and the yolk a deep tangerine color. The egg’s flavor was more intense than the eggs I was used to and, with a piece of toast, it was the best breakfast I’d had in a long time.

Now when I have to buy conventional eggs (I only get a half dozen of the pastured eggs each week) I’m disappointed in the pale, lemon-yellow yolk and the watery whites. I crave the richness of my CSA’s pastured eggs and have even considered getting my own chickens so I don’t have to rely on an outside source for my little beauties. Funny how a little taste of something simple, like a good egg, can change a person’s view forever. — Jenny Slafkosky

It’s hot in the carport, maybe over 100 degrees. Clouds of alkaline dust sweep under the temporary structure as gusts of hot wind rattle the aluminum poles and snap the plastic siding. It’s a weird place to eat fondue, that’s for sure. But, depending on who you ask, Burning Man can be kind of a weird place.

Since attending the event for the first time seven years ago, I’ve graduated from lugging stashes of canned Chef Boyardee ravioli and Clif bars to supping on sushi, carne asada and fondue — mostly due to the generosity of others.

My friend Ray Spears is the source of the fondue this year, and was the source of the ice cold slices of fresh hamachi (packed on dry ice for the ride out) four years ago. Ray is the sort of person who sees no possible barrier between himself and a good meal. Dust? No problem. Extreme heat? Bring it on. Wind storm? A mere zephyr.

This year Ray brought several types of cheese and sausage to the desert, along with some smoked pork chops. He made gingerbread pancakes and ratatouille and toyed with the idea of making stock. Yes, stock. In the desert. On a camp stove. In a carport. In a dust storm. (I was glad he didn’t, that stock would’ve been dust soup.)

He brought his electric fondue pot, plugged it into a friend’s generator and fed a group of about 12 of us. In the mornings he made freshly squeezed orange juice and bacon.

All this pretty much put my grand ideas of quesadillas and antipasti (olives, cheese-stuffed peppers and chicken liver pate all courtesy of Trader Joe’s) to shame.

But no matter, because I got to eat whatever Ray made, all of which tasted extra good out there in the desert.

The thing about camping in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, where Burning Man is held each year, is the powder-fine white dust of the “playa,” an ancient dried lake bed, gets into everything you own. It coats your skin and hair, billows through unzipped tent doors and windows and acts as a special, not exactly optional, extra seasoning in everything you eat.

Maybe that’s why the fondue tasted so good in the carport that afternoon (though the imported cheese, wine and skill of the chef probably helped) — it was the playa dust. It’s a taste that some of us just can’t get enough of. As a gift one year, a friend delivered each campmate a salt shaker filled with playa dust — so all the meals we ate in the real world would taste as good as they do at Burning Man. I’ve never used mine at home, but it sits on my kitchen shelf just in case I need a little extra spice, another taste of a good time with my friends. — Jenny Slafkosky

Tips for (car) camping in the desert when you are not as ambitious as my friend Ray:

– Get a good cooler. A really good one. I have a Coleman “Xtreme” cooler from a few years back that promises to keep ice frozen for up to five days in up to 90-degree weather conditions.

– If packing for more than three days with no chance of getting more ice, use dry ice. This requires a little know-how, as dry ice will burn your skin if you touch it. It can also be a little hard to find these days, check out www.dryiceinfo.com for more information about handling dry ice and for sources who sell it.

– Pack lots of preserved items. Pickles, olives, jars of roasted peppers, marinated mushrooms and artichoke hearts (Trader Joe’s is a great place for all of these things) all taste delicious in unfriendly climates.

– Citrus fruits pack well in coolers as they don’t bruise easily or become waterlogged. They also taste great when they’re cold.

– Don’t forget the water. And the Gatorade. And the Vitamin Water. And the liquor.

I am, without a doubt, the worst kind of kitchen pantry packrat you will ever encounter. I don’t believe that food knows enough to expire on its expiration date, so I keep samples for way too long. Worse, I take home packets and jars and boxes of foods that I never really wanted, and had no real intention of ever trying.

In the interest of fairness, I decided I should share what’s in this month’s outgoing stash. Most of the items are at least a year new, and it’s possible that while I didn’t care to try them, you might.

First up are not one but five packets of McCormick Hickory BBQ Buffalo Wings Seasoning Mix. It might be tasty, but I don’t particularly like buffalo wings and I can’t make myself use seasoning mixes when I have at my disposal more cookbooks than anybody should ever have. More items that I am unloading for the same reason include Desert Gardens Smokin’ Chipotle and Habanero seasonings. They might be fantastic, but again, they’re mixes. And don’t forget the Kernel Seasons Popcorn Seasoning that’s supposed to taste like butter. No thank you. Pass the real butter, please.

On to the the items that actually might be delicious: A bottle of Tastefully Simple Dried Tomato and Garlic Pesto mix; a jar of Kettle Cooked Praline Topping from Country Living ( I just rarely use bottled toppings) and a bottle of Stubb’s Beef Marinade. This marinade is probably excellent, but I don’t eat much beef, and when I do, I can’t seem remember to marinate it.

Now if there was an earthquake, I might be really sad that I parted with my box of Perfectly Potato Cheddar Soup Mix by Tastefully Simple or the instant mashed potatoes by Betty Crocker. But I’ll take a chance. The only item that I actually feel guilty about offing are the Himalania Goji Berries, since they are guaranteed to save my life (because of the antioxidants.) The problem is that I just don’t like them very much.

Last to hit the giveaway bin was one of the most ridiculous products I have encountered in months: a yellow plastic bottle of Shake ‘n Pour Bisquick. One cup of mix in a plastic bottle is what I call an insult to the environment. I know, it would be lovely to have if you’re backpacking a dusty trail. But most of us don’t walk, much less go on a hike where we are without such amenities as mixing bowls and spoons. My advice: Don’t touch it and Bisquick will stop making it.

That’s it for this month. _ Jolene Thym