Going to the grocery store these days can feel like a minor existential crisis. The price tags are higher than they should be, the inescapable muzak drones on and at my local supermarket, it seems as though a quiet conspiracy is afoot. Nearly every checkout lane once manned by a cashier is now closed, leaving a vast, eerie expanse of empty aisles where humans used to stand. Instead, we’re all left with the self-checkout, a quietly menacing reminder of a world where automation reigns.

And yet, amidst this corporate disillusionment, there’s the mayonnaise aisle. If you look closely, it’s almost beautiful.

Now, before you think I’m losing my grip entirely, hear me out. Mayonnaise, with its thick, creamy opacity, has long been the subject of ridicule. The very name conjures images of sweltering summer picnics, soggy sandwiches and a kind of lowbrow indulgence we don’t like to admit we enjoy. For many, it’s the condiment equivalent of an unfashionable uncle at a wedding — always present, but never the center of attention.

But what if I told you that mayonnaise, in its full, unapologetic glory, is having a renaissance? Yes, we are living in the golden age of mayonnaise and those of us with discerning taste are lucky to bear witness to it.

I know, I know — this may sound like the ramblings of a condiment devotee. And perhaps, in part, it is. My fridge, a constantly evolving experiment in emulsification, is home to a rotating selection of mustards, hot sauces and sandwich spreads (full disclosure: I once had a column devoted entirely to this obsessive passion called “Saucy”). But the thing is, this isn’t just about my personal affinity for creamy, acidic spreads.

It’s about the cultural moment we’re in: mayonnaise is not only everywhere — it’s better than it’s ever been.