The brand name itself refers to Zakuski: the traditional spreads of light snacks intended to be consumed with vodka. This guy (who, to raise hackles further, appears via a photo whose quality noticeably clashes with that of the illustrated onion domes behind him) also shows up on two horseradish mustard variants as well as horseradish beets, which to me indicates a possible (linguistic?) association between blackness and horseradish itself, especially since this mustard/mayo mix also has a noticeable horseradish zing. The brand's other jars typically feature a more ordinary Russian babushka, with the version shown here specifically described as “Teshchina Gorchitsa,” or mustard from Teschin (a bridge in Odessa). This indicates these spreads may not even be Russian to begin with, although another source does transliterate the word to Tyosha. The latter makes a bit more sense, since Teschin Bridge does not seem nearly impressive enough to have a mustard named after it (assuming, of course, it never served as a site where famous home-made mustards were sold). There’s only so far you can go, however, without a knowledge of the language the item is originally printed in, and so I must call off the search before I go insane. The mustard/mayo (mustardo?) itself is pretty good, at the very least.
Following up on the Russian theme of the previous post, it seems as good a time as any to delve into this mysterious mayo/mustard combination, bought at not-great cost from the great NetCost supermarket in Sheepshead Bay. The use of a black man as a logo (silent spokesman?), one whose connection to either mustard or mayonnaise seems highly tenuous, seems to be aiming for humorous (perhaps through the overall oddness of this goofy-faced fellow touting a characteristically Russian product?), but lands closer to cringe-inducing. I could, perhaps, leave it at that, writing this one off to a poor choice made from the remove of an often not-so-tolerant culture, but as always I feel impelled to push further, toward the exact set of circumstances that led to this specific abomination of design. Despite heavy Googling (over 30 minutes logged, at least), I found only scant information online about this product, although one clue is that the spokesman appears (at least from my barely-informed outsider perspective) to be dressed like a robe-cloaked Orthodox priest, albeit one clad in an ushanka while gripping a hammer and sickle mounted on what might be a crosier. Or a crucifix? Specifically a blessing cross?
The brand name itself refers to Zakuski: the traditional spreads of light snacks intended to be consumed with vodka. This guy (who, to raise hackles further, appears via a photo whose quality noticeably clashes with that of the illustrated onion domes behind him) also shows up on two horseradish mustard variants as well as horseradish beets, which to me indicates a possible (linguistic?) association between blackness and horseradish itself, especially since this mustard/mayo mix also has a noticeable horseradish zing. The brand's other jars typically feature a more ordinary Russian babushka, with the version shown here specifically described as “Teshchina Gorchitsa,” or mustard from Teschin (a bridge in Odessa). This indicates these spreads may not even be Russian to begin with, although another source does transliterate the word to Tyosha. The latter makes a bit more sense, since Teschin Bridge does not seem nearly impressive enough to have a mustard named after it (assuming, of course, it never served as a site where famous home-made mustards were sold). There’s only so far you can go, however, without a knowledge of the language the item is originally printed in, and so I must call off the search before I go insane. The mustard/mayo (mustardo?) itself is pretty good, at the very least.
2 Comments
Mayonnaise has two possible origins, as salsa mahonesa, developed in 18th century Mahon, on Minorca (also home of this lovely cheese), or, if you trust the Larousse Gastronomique, in France itself, a play on moyeu, the old French word for yolk. Both stories are likely nonsense, but I’m more inclined to believe the former, since the Larousse narrative leans on two dubious etymologies (the second involving Charles de Lorraine, duke of Mayenne) and a general stink of proprietary snootiness, while ignoring the great potential origin story of Armand de Vignerot du Plessis claiming the condiment for the French after driving the British out of Mahon in 1758. Either way, mayonnaise has spent the 256 years since building its rep as of the world’s most successful sauces, spreading out across the globe in such surprising and weird variations that they probably deserve their own series of posts (Mayonnaise World?). For now I’ll be focusing on Kewpie Mayo, the ubiquitous Japanese condiment marked with the unforgettable naked baby logo - a thinner, more pungent cousin to American mayonnaise, contained within a puzzlingly pliable plastic squeeze bottle.
|
The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
Archives
February 2022
Categories
All
|