Nevada City, CA — Local resident Greg Thompson, 42, has once again shared his deep-seated hatred for mayonnaise, a condiment he has called “the bane of his existence” for as long as anyone can remember. Known to bring up his mayo-aversion at neighborhood potlucks, family barbecues, and any occasion where condiments are present, Greg’s ongoing war against the humble emulsion has taken on an almost evangelical zeal.
What started as a passing remark—“I just don’t like mayo, thanks”—has slowly snowballed into a full-blown philosophical stance. Greg’s mayo hatred isn’t just a dislike. It’s a manifesto. “I’m not saying it should be outlawed,” Greg clarified at a recent backyard gathering, where the offending substance had appeared in the potato salad, “I’m just saying people should be warned before it’s smeared on their food like an oil-based ambush.”
His disgust goes beyond just flavor. “It’s a texture thing, too,” he explains, “it’s gloopy, weirdly sticky, and has this slimy, clingy vibe. Why would anyone willingly put that on a sandwich?”
The Condiment Conspiracy Theories
Greg also enjoys diving into the culinary conspiracy of mayonnaise, regularly questioning how something as “weird” as emulsified eggs and oil came to be considered an acceptable food item.
“I mean, who came up with this?” he’s asked while simultaneously side-eyeing anyone who’s dared to dip a fry in aioli. “You can’t tell me mayo isn’t a culinary mistake that just… stuck around. I bet it’s Big Mayo at work, making sure it stays on menus and in grocery stores.”
When pressed about what exactly constitutes “Big Mayo,” Greg launches into a passionate tangent about food industry lobbyists, processed foods, and how mayonnaise is secretly undermining the quality of restaurant meals. According to him, chefs use mayo to hide the fact that they’ve “given up.”
“He’s not wrong,” says Greg’s friend Doug, who has enjoyed hearing Greg’s mayo-related rants for over a decade. “But I’ve also heard this rant, like, a hundred times. At this point, he hates mayo as much as I hate hearing him talk about it.”
Indeed, Greg’s mayo rants have become a staple of local gatherings, and some say it’s starting to feel performative. “He’s got the same routine,” said neighbor Linda. “First, it’s ‘who likes mayo anyway,’ then a deep dive into how ‘other condiments exist, you know.’ It’s honestly impressive how many different ways he can say the same thing.”
The Mayo-Hate Hall of Fame
While Greg is certainly not alone in his disdain for mayonnaise (a quick Google search reveals entire Reddit threads and blogs dedicated to anti-mayo sentiment), he is perhaps Penn Valley’s most vocal critic. His dislike for mayonnaise is rivaled only by his love of letting you know just how much he dislikes it.
“Look, some people hate cilantro. Others can’t stand olives. But mayonnaise? That’s my hill to die on,” Greg said proudly, before going on to explain how mayo is also “just another sneaky way they push unhealthy fats on us.”
Despite his long-standing grudge, Greg insists he’s not trying to convert anyone to his anti-mayo cause (although the side-eye he gave when his cousin dared add mayo to a sandwich says otherwise). “I just think people should know what they’re getting into,” he declared, as if mayonnaise were some kind of culinary Trojan horse.
As for the future? Greg hints at expanding his disdain to salad dressings with a “mayo base,” like ranch. “People don’t even know they’re eating it half the time,” he muses. “That’s the real tragedy here.”
In the meantime, Greg remains ever-vigilant, ever outspoken, and ever eager to tell you—again—why he hates mayonnaise.
