Oh, My Pimento Cheese, to Me You Are So Wonderful! – Garden & Gun
My New York City husband asked me, “What the hell is pimento cheese?”
I said, “I served it in pinwheels at our Christmas parties for ten years.”
My husband asked, “What are pinwheels?”
“Lawd,” I texted my friend in Florida about this exchange.
“Oh Lawd is right,” my friend texted back.
In the South, you can get pimento cheese as easy as religion. It’s an omnipresent staple. Picture a Swingline with GOD printed on the label. There at the ready. You don’t use it every day, but you know it works.
Pimento cheese is a spread made up of cheddar, pimentos, mayonnaise, and salt and pepper. Sound simple? It is and it ain’t. Do you use sharp and extra sharp? Do you grate it by hand or buy it shredded in a bag? Do you use homemade mayonnaise, Hellman’s, or Duke’s? And just what the heck is a pimento? Nobody knows. They’re only found in that four-ounce jar—slippery crimson somethings packed like Red Hot–size sardines. They bleed into the mix and give it a Circus Peanut color. I’ve never seen a recipe that makes less than three cups.
You can buy pimento cheese in small batches at the grocery store. It’s totally okay. It’s homemade if you made it come to the table. Two Southern friends attest that Red Clay Gourmet and MyThreeSons are the best. Another says if you’re on a budget, “Publix is just as good.”
Once you got it, what do you do with it? Slather it on like a mud mask? Why not?
A Georgia friend says, “I love it on crackers and grilled pimento cheese sandwiches.”
My friend in Florida says, “I love it as a dip and serve it as a Southern twist on a charcuterie board.”
I’ve eaten it on deviled eggs, celery sticks, and celery-wide white bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Every time I’m in Vegas, I get myself to Yardbird at the Venetian where they pile it on open-faced fried green tomato and smoked pork belly BLTs. At Dollywood’s Granny Ogle’s Ham ‘n’ Beans,…
..