I’m not a fan of the flute. It’s fluttering shrill is like the wind on a gusty day, when it sneaks through the nooks and crannies of your house, making its presence known with a high-pitched howl.

Spring in the mountains brings a lot of these days — like all last week. Hiding inside, the windy conditions were getting to me. I wasn’t wallowing in the covers, reading dark poetry and drinking red wine. I was whisking mayonnaise.

When the weather goes sour, I always go extra crazy in the kitchen. I’ll scour the pages of cook books and magazines, and concoct my own version of new and exotic meals. I have a hard time sticking to recipes, but I’ll devote hours to multi-step meals, planting myself behind the range, the sink and the cutting board.

During the recent winds, I turned to whisking an egg yolk and oil in the age-old art of homemade mayonnaise. Think beyond Hellmann’s and Miracle Whip. This is the real stuff. Similar to the French version that comes in a tube, and you carefully roll like toothpaste to get every last drop. Squeeze a dollop of mayo on a baguette and top with a slice of charcuterie and your lunch menu is set for days.

Homemade mayonnaise is even better, and surprisingly simple. I knew this beforehand, but with the wind howling and a mayonnaise story from Bon Appétit fresh in my mind, I was ready to make mayonnaise my personal mission.

The trick to making mayonnaise is in the whisk. Standing in front of the sink, looking out the window at the dynamic world of violently shaking trees and tattering prayer flags, I set to work.

I cracked an egg, separated out the yolk and placed it in a bowl. Julia Child, in “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” has a whole segment on mayonnaise. She recommends having the ingredients at room temperature, a mistake I made on my first mayonnaise-making attempt. It ended up runny.

You see, I didn’t make just one batch. Like the wind’s ongoing assault, I kept at it. Making a mid-day batch of basic mayonnaise, then an aioli dip for grilled vegetables at dinner. The next day, I based the whole meal around a cucumber-horseradish mayonnaise recipe that accompanied crab cakes. Then, I was on to flavoring my much-loved spread. How about some Cajun-aise, a spiced-up version of mayo, to dip grilled potato rounds in as a side for Wednesday’s braised pot roast dinner?

If mayonnaise seems too decadent to dip or smear or smother on your food, let me remind you that it’s basically the same thing as dressing on a salad or butter in a fry pan. Poor mayonnaise often gets the back seat to mustard, and many avoid it completely. The homemade version, however, is just simple goodness, and has no preservatives to boot.

My brother-in-law Chad is on a (semi) strict anti-white diet — meaning he’s picky and doesn’t like mayo, sour cream, cream cheese, but will help himself to a big bowl of vanilla ice cream. For him, my message is simple. Homemade mayonnaise, thanks to the yolk, isn’t white, it’s canary.

I opened my eyes to all this in the flurry of my mayonnaise-making experience, and the long stints of whisking.

It takes roughly ten minutes to whisk a batch of mayo. You start with the yolk, and have at it for a minute or two. Then, when it’s thicker and paler, and you’ve added the vinegar, lemon juice, salt and mustard, you start the oil-adding process — a painstaking one that takes around eight minutes.

The first integration of oil is the most important — only a wee amount in the beginning. Molly Wizenberg, the author of that mayonnaise-evoking Bon Appétit story, advises adding, drop by drop, a quarter cup of oil to the yolk mixture, in four minutes. Then, in the remaining four minutes of required whisking, you slowly drizzle another half cup of oil.

Mayonnaise can also be made using an electric blender or food processor, but what fun would that be? In whisking, your forearm should ache by the end. I tried switch-hitting, and going lefty, but my whisking ability was greatly hindered.
Whisking is one part, the exact amount of oil is another. According to Child, the maximum amount of oil one U.S. large egg yolk can absorb is three-quarters cup. When exceeded, the binding breaks down and the sauce thins or curdles.
It’s a chemistry thing, that’s my explanation, so make exact measurements. The rest is the physical work of whisking, and it’s kind of fun. It’s the path to making something scrumptious. But mostly, I was whisking away the wind, moving my mind to a calmer state. I was back on the White Rim in Moab, on that windy day when we didn’t leave the inside of the truck. This wind was nothing to that wind, I told myself in comfort.
That wind took out an entire group of able-minded bikers. The lucky ones found sanctuary inside Emma, using her rusty brown exterior as a shield against the sand-blasting. Others hunkered down beside boulders or juniper trees. Or my favorite, in the Porta John. (We laugh now, but Courtney really left no trace.)

On that gale force day, the thought of cooking was obsolete. Luckily, one brave chef stepped up to the plate, and out of the car.

“It will boost morale,” Clay said as Katie dished her dinner of savory, and surprisingly sand-less pasta onto ten separate plates.

It worked. Along with a bottle of Tequila. And worse yet (which I embarrassingly take responsibility and the biggest intake) a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream liqueur.
This time around, I was going savory over sweet, and thanks to the walls of my San Bernardo abode the alcohol consumption was minimal.

Me and my mayonnaise, we were making light of the wind. However, one batch led to another, and when I decided to write about my new-found zeal for mayonnaise, more questions arose. What if I made it with cider vinegar instead of white wine vinegar, walnut oil instead of olive oil? So back to my kitchen, where the whisking continued and the experimentation began.

Eventually there came an end to the madness. I jumped off the mayonnaise train, and moved on. I think it was the harissa and spices in the Moroccan lamb dish that did the trick.

However, the next time I need mayonnaise, I’ll know how easy it is. Since there is, I admit, a ration of Hellmann’s in the fridge door, I’ll have to be in the mood to whisk. Or hard up for the homemade stuff, which you can’t get at the grocery store — short shelf-life and the whole raw egg thing.

I’m not afraid of a little raw egg. Me and my mayonnaise, we’re friends for life.
For the next bout of wind, however, I’m ready for something new, and I already have a few ideas. Whipped cream or, even better, souffles, a famously French egg creation that puffs up in the oven thanks to well-worked, stiffened whites. The word itself derives from the French word souffler, meaning to blow.

Julia Child will have to wait for some more wind before I tackle the souffle. Or I could just listen to some flute music.

Basic Mayonnaise, as described in the April Bon Appétit article “Mayo Clinic” 
one egg yolk
3/4 cup oil
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
1/4 teaspoon dijon mustard
11/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup canola oil, in parts

Combine egg yolk, lemon juice, vinegar and salt in medium bowl. Whisk until blended and bright yellow, about 1 minute. Using a 1/4 teaspoon measure and whisking constantly, add 1/4 cup oil to yolk mixture, a few drops at a time for four minutes or so. Gradually add remaining 1/2 cup oil in very slow thin drizzle, whisking constantly until mayonnaise is thick and lighter in color. Cover and chill for up to three days.

*Aioli - a more Mediterranean version of Mayonnaise. Instead of canola oil, use olive oil and add minced garlic to the yolk, following the first whisking of the yolk.

*For Cajun-aise, a hit at my house, just spice up the basic mayonnaise after it’s whisked to perfection. I add finely diced jalapeno, some hot sauce, paprika and chives, all to taste.