It’s not very often I make a public declaration like this, but bring back the Durkee’s!
For weeks now, when I’ve been at Piggly Wiggly, I’ve been desperately looking at an empty space on the shelf that once housed a sandwich spread that will be 169 years old this year. Sure it’s a Yankee invention, but you wouldn’t believe how much it’s caught on in Southern kitchens.
For those unfamiliar, I will quote a Mr. Show sketch that perfectly encapsulates what makes Durkee’s so special—it’s mayostard/mustardayonnaise. That is to say, it’s a sauce thats a perfect combination of the two, amped up with 12 secret spices. John tells me it’s the toast of Philadelphia, and I’m not one to argue since I’ve never even been to Philadelphia.
Although I used to idealize Pennsylvania when I was young and thought New England was all that and a bag of chips. You can blame Gilmore Girls for that, but I digress.
Last week, I got so frustrated with Durkee’s not being restocked that I decided to take matters into my own hands and order some. After all, we are down to our last bottle. Then, I came across a bit of shocking news: the company who makes Durkee’s is no longer producing it.
They didn’t make some splashy announcement or tearful apology, they simply responded to a customer service email that they have made the decision to no longer produce it. If you ask me, it’s a pretty dumb decision. I don’t want their adobo spices or their seasoning salts, I just want my Durkee’s.
If you’ve ever eaten any savory thing that either John or I have made, it’s more than likely got Durkee’s in it at some point. This little jar of sky blue-labeled sauce is many Southerner’s secret weapon, so much so that when I’ve mentioned it to other Southerners they don’t know what I’m talking about half the time.
All the online discourse surrounding this sandwich spread are rife with memories of turkey sandwiches, roast beef, and, best of all, deviled eggs. We put the stuff in just about every cold salad that ends up in our fridge. If you ask me for a sandwich, a hot dog, a burger…you best believe I’m gonna spread this on the bun.
Someone correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Durkee’s the crux of Southern Academy’s barbecue sauce? How will they eat barbecue now?!
My tone may sound dramatic, but it’s only because the disappearance of this sauce is nothing short of catastrophic for my pantry. If they stop making Pick-a-Peppa, I might as well fold up this recipe column and sign off for good!
So, I did what any grieving gourmand would do: I set out to make my own.
Online, I came across a remarkable set of blogs that spanned over ten years, with sporadic contributions on this beloved sauce. This particular blogger was in a similar boat, where Durkee’s was getting harder to find just as the jar was running out.
What followed were three different iterations of the sauce, with the first being not so close in taste or color, the second being close in taste, and the third being the closest in color and taste. Naturally, I started with the third option on Monday afternoon.
Mixing all my ingredients together in a bowl, I set it on top of a double boiler and obsessively stirred this dressing for an hour before it reached spreading consistency. An exercise such as this made me feel like I was making the ancestor of Durkee’s, a true boiled dressing.
If you think that I’m highfalutin’ enough to have a double boiler—think again, cowboy! I just use a Pyrex or oven safe bowl over a pot that will allow the bowl to rest comfortably on top like a lid under the boiling water.
Ever since I came across this method on the Food Network ages ago, it still feels like the ultimate cheat code in the kitchen. Besides, where do you even buy a double boiler? I’m sure if they do make one now, you’d have to get batteries for it or download an app to “talk to it.”
The problem with this sauce that I made was not necessarily the color, but it was much sweeter than the original. Still tangy, but not as zippy…more mellow.
Thus, we find ourselves at the second iteration, and one that I wrote down in our family recipe book a year ago when it was slim pickings in the sauce aisle again.
What strikes me about these two recipes, side-by-side is that they’re completely different…and notably lack a variety of spices. In fact, the second recipe calls for Dijon mustard, while the third recipe calls for Heinz Prepared Mustard. The recipe I tried Monday had no mayo in it and a whole egg, whereas the one I made Tuesday had an egg yolk and almost an entire cup of mayo. One is white vinegar based, the other relies on apple cider vinegar.
I’m a little voyeuristic when it comes to baking, in that I’m obsessed with watching bakers work and rework recipes through experimentation, trial and error, etc. This kind of experimentation is necessary sometimes to get the results you like best out of your cooking or baking.
It’s how we’ve ended up with things like the chocolate chip cookie or French Onion Dip (which, apparently, used to be called California Dip).
For instance, on Tuesday, trying the recipe I’m about to give you, I started pulling out small teacups and bowls to try adding turmeric for color or including Heinz mustard and dijon with the dry mustard. Unfortunately for all of us, these attempts, while delicious, were not exactly the Durkee’s experience I was looking for, just approximations.
Yet, I’ll take an approximation over the alternative—nothing at all. Here, then, is how you can attempt this famous sauce at home:
Homemade Durkee’s Famous Sauce
- 1 egg yolk
- 4 Tablespoons apple cider vinegar
- 10 Tablespoons mayonnaise
- 5 Tablespoons Dijon mustard
- 2 teaspoons sugar
- 4 teaspoons dry mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
- 1 teaspoon salt
Combine the egg yolk and vinegar. Heat on top of a double boiler, stirring constantly. Cook until it reaches 160 degrees on an instant read thermometer, or is pale yellow and thick—about 5 minutes.
Combine with remaining ingredients, adjusting seasoning to taste. This will keep for months.
That’s it!
This version, the Tuesday version (if you will), was quicker to come together, yet paler in color than what it’s imitating.
Insofar as mayonnaise goes, if it’s not Duke’s, don’t talk to me. My grandmother used to keep Hellmann’s Light Mayonnaise around. To think she used to disparage my fondness for Miracle Whip as “low brow!”
However, I can proudly declare that light mayonnaise has never made an appearance in my refrigerator. If you’re going with mayo, you might as well go all the way.
Now, for the Dijon you could certainly turn to regular Grey Poupon, but I’d encourage you to try the Country Dijon version of Grey Poupon. Personally, if you’re going the whole grain mustard route, you might as well get Inglehoffer Stone Ground Mustard. It has a very silly-looking German man as the mascot.
Dry mustard is just the powdered stuff you can get in the spice aisle. I strongly recommend dusting off your coffee grinder or mortar and pestle to grind up your own dry mustard on demand. It’s just fresher that way.
Throw this in a jar and set it on the top shelf of your fridge, because I have a feeling you’ll be reaching for this strange sauce quite a bit. Next time you make pimiento cheese, put a spoonful or two of this stuff in there and I dare you to tell me it’s not an improvement.
For that matter, spread a whisper-thin layer on your tomato sandwiches and you won’t think of a tomato sandwich the same way again.
This experiment is far from over. Maybe you’ll end up seeing a whole new recipe for the sauce somewhere in the future. For now, this is what I can offer you…not the real thing, but pretty damn close to it.
