In my family, the love of Durkee’s is inherited. I do not remember a time when a bottle of this pale yellow sauce was not in my fridge growing up; my dad does not remember a time when it was not in his fridge growing up.
For the uninitiated: Durkee Famous Sauce is a tangy mix of mustard, mayonnaise, and vinegar, steeped in no fewer than twelve secret spices. This is no newcomer on the spread scene: It has been around since 1857, when Eugene R. Durkee of Buffalo, New York, added it to his line of spices, salad dressings, and extracts. His company, called Durkee, is still alive and producing, though it has changed hands several times and is now based in Ankeny, Iowa. Its website boasts spice bottles and gravy packets, a sloppy joe and a spaghetti mix, and exactly one sauce, which is really the only thing that matters because it’s the stuff of legends. (Rumor has it Abe Lincoln kept it in the White House during his presidency.)
I asked my dad what my grandad, Garland, did with Durkee’s. He thought for a moment and then said, “Well, he put it on damn near everything.” Sandwiches of any kind but especially turkey. Pot roast. Eggs. Any piece of meat on his plate. My dad, in turn, puts it on damn near everything. The cult following is not limited to my family—there’s a Durkee lovers fan page on Facebook where people post heartfelt tributes (“Durkee’s is a glorious gift to mankind”) and confessions (“I like to add it to scrambled eggs; my family loves it as long as they don’t see me do it”).
Once, about ten years ago, our local Kroger in Little Rock inexplicably stopped carrying it. My dad was beside himself. He pulled aside the first Kroger worker he saw and climbed in desperation up the chain of command until he convinced a manager to start ordering it again. These days, it comes in a more modern package instead of a glass jar, which some people on the Facebook page were pleased about (“just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, I see that my favorite sandwich condiment has finally entered the 21st century and has a squeeze bottle”).
But really it’s what’s inside that matters. In my opinion, this is a Southern sauce at heart, never mind its origins, as it’s perfect in potato salad, tuna salad, egg salad, pretty much any salad at the potluck. But the place it shines brightest is in deviled eggs. My Uncle Lynn—who married my dad’s sister and like so many others also discovered Durkee’s through my grandpa—makes deviled eggs good enough to cause a fight at the Easter or Thanksgiving table. As a kid, and as an adult too, to be honest, I never knew exactly how he made them; I just knew I needed to find the plate while it was chilling in the refrigerator before my dad did.
But for the sake of this story, I finally asked him. Here’s how he does it: Boil your eggs, scoop out the yolks, and mix them with mayonnaise. Add in some finely chopped onions and a dollop of sweet relish, and substitute however much mustard you’d normally put in for Durkee’s. There are no measurements here; you simply taste it until you like it and then leave it alone until you’re ready to serve, at which point you’ll sprinkle on paprika (or my uncle’s preference, Tony’s). And if someone asks you what your secret is, pass it on.
