You, reading this. I don’t know who you are, or where you are. I don’t know if you’re just starting your day, padding in socked feet into the kitchen to boil water for the French press, pulling out eggs and cream as you toast an English muffin. I don’t know if you’re still half-asleep, rolling over in a tangle of white cotton sheets to fumble for your phone on the bedside table and read a few blogs to wake up, assiduously avoiding the news for now.
Maybe you’ve been up since 5 AM, feeling like a month has already elapsed since you awoke, facing a chubby toddler tossing Cheerios one by one onto the floor from her high chair and a six-year-old demanding pancakes and upending the maple syrup onto the countertop when you turn your back to rummage in the cupboard for a tea bag.
Maybe you’re in Colorado, in a cabin high up on a curving mountain road, preparing to take a long hike through the cool, piney forest. Maybe you’re in Philadelphia, and you’ll don a mask to pick up peaches and Kirby cucumbers at the Rittenhouse Square farmers’ market before walking home to your apartment to call your sister and clean your bedroom closet.
I don’t know if you like reading, and if so, whether you prefer fiction or non-fiction. I don’t know if you hate running or if three sweaty miles is therapy unlike any other. I don’t know if you shower in the morning or at night; if you eat popcorn every time you watch a movie; if you’ve ever made your own pizza before. I don’t know how many siblings you have or whether you’ve cried in the past month or if you think skinny-dipping is nicer than swimming in a bathing suit.
I don’t know what today is like. You might be feeling cheerful—the prospect of the day ahead peppered with ordinary pleasures: a sunny walk, picking zucchini in the garden, tossing the frisbee in the backyard, diving into the cold ocean surf after an hour baking on your towel reading back issues of The Atlantic, peeling the foil wrapper off a frozen Ferrero Rocher after dinner.
Or, you might not be. You might be anxious and scared and angry at the precariousness of everything right now. You might not feel safe. You might be worried—and maybe it’s a big worry: health and politics and child care. Or maybe it’s a small worry—the dishwasher is broken or a deadline is looming or you have a sneaking suspicion that you’ve started grinding your teeth at night and don’t want to visit a g-d dentist, thanks very much.
Or is it both? You’re cheerful and content and thinking about not much beyond what’s for lunch and to remember to switch the wet clothes to the dryer and should you try and search for a nail clipper upstairs…and then, something happens—and you suddenly sense the fragility of it all. The incredible fleeting nature of any particular moment or mood, be it good or bad.
What can we hold fast to then, on the days when you’re not entirely sure if you can rely on the ground staying solid around you?
Here’s one thing: the flip side of nothing seeming fixed is that maybe you’ll realize that you don’t have to subscribe to whatever set of rules you’ve followed. If much of the world is being upended, upend the stuff that doesn’t serve you too! And while ethics and manners and all of that are certainly important still, forget decorum if it’s always held you back from doing the things you want.
Be messy; color outside the lines. Be less afraid. Say I love you a lot. Actually love someone, actively. All of that.
Hold fast to other things that will reliably exist—the syrupy, drowsy sensation right before you fall asleep at night; how funny every McSweeeney’s article is; baby laughter; summer sandwiches piled high with greens and the very best condiment known to man. BASIL MAYO.
I can’t make you seek out the rest of that list, but I can confidently guide you in the direction of the final item. Basil mayonnaise is a discovery that shocked me with its brilliance. Mayonnaise makes most summertime sandwiches good; basil mayo makes them great. You can take a shortcut here and blend fresh basil leaves into store-bought mayo, but I urge you to do it all from scratch.
It’s excellent on this particular sandwich, but also very good on a BLT, thinned with yogurt and drizzled over salads, spread on corn on the cob, or as a dip for raw vegetables like cherry tomatoes and snap peas.
Basil Mayo + A Summer Sandwich
For the basil mayonnaise
1 cup packed basil leaves, finely chopped
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
pinch kosher salt
1 egg yolk
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 cup canola oil
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
For the sandwich
4 slices multigrain bread
1 ripe avocado, sliced
2 cups sprouts
1 cup shredded red cabbage
2 handfuls green leaf lettuce
1 cup shredded carrots
1 large cucumber, sliced thinly
1 ripe tomato, sliced
For the mayonnaise: Whisk together the egg yolk, lemon juice, vinegar, and salt in medium bowl. Whisk rapidly until well-combined (about 45 seconds).
Very slowly drizzle in the olive oil, a little at a time, whisking as you go. Then gradually and slowly drizzle in the 1/2 cup of canola oil, whisking constantly (you can use a food processor for this if you prefer), until the mayonnaise thickens.
Whisk the finely chopped basil into the mayo (I often blend it with a blender or food processor quickly), then refrigerate for at least 1 hour to let the flavors mellow together.
For the sandwich: Spread the bread thickly with the basil mayonnaise, and layer on the remaining ingredients, dividing them evenly between both sandwiches. Adjust to your taste!