Just over a century ago Richard Hellmann, the owner of a deli in Manhattan’s Upper West Side, started selling his wife Nina’s mayonnaise in wooden bowls. She made two blends; the bowls with the richer mayonnaise had blue ribbons round them. Nina’s mayo was such a success that by 1912 Hellmann, who had emigrated from Germany nine years earlier, was bottling and selling Hellmann’s Mayonnaise with a blue ribbon on the label. The ribbon is still there today.

The rest is condiment history. Hellmann’s didn’t officially reach Britain until 1961, though it was a famous treat in food parcels that were sent from America during the Second World War. When it did arrive, it quickly became the dominant brand, displacing the tongue-searing Heinz Salad Cream. Now Hellmann’s rules in countries from Brazil to Australia, though not France.

Uniquely among popular processed foods, it resides in the store cupboards of the most puritanical and passionate foodies, as well as those of the rest of us who know there’s nothing like Hellmann’s for potato salad (or indeed a cold lobster). Gordon Ramsay put Hellmann’s — along with sesame and walnut oils — in his list of “Desert Island Ingredients”.

Mayonnaise’s history is long and blurred. Some say that it was invented by the Duc de Richelieu’s chef to celebrate his master’s naval victory over the English off Minorca in 1756. He used oil when he found he had no cream to mix with the eggs, and named the triumphant result for the island’s port, Mahon. But the Larousse Gastronomique is pretty sure that the name comes from the Old French for yolk of egg. Whatever, I hear you say: the important thing is that we’ve been emulsifying yolks with oil and acid for a long time: mayonnaise has been a feature of the English table since the 1840s or so.

So what’s wrong with making it yourself? This is easier than ever, now you can do it with a wave of the electric wand. The key is to use a lightly flavoured oil — too many cooks are put off home-made mayo because they’ve put the posh extra-virgin olive oil in, and then been surprised by the acrid taste. Grape-seed oil works better. My brother makes mayonnaise and then keeps it uncovered in the fridge until there’s a hairy grey crust on the surface. He removes that and then, only then, he says, the mayonnaise is perfect. Salmonella sauce, I say.

Shop-bought mayonnaise is more stable, and safe, because the egg yolks are pasteurised. (It is not a bad idea to parboil your eggs before making mayonnaise at home.) But most commercial brands are pretty vile because so much antioxidant and acid have been added as a preservative. It’s there in Hellmann’s ingredients list — calcium disodium, vinegar and lemon. But I can’t see any secret: Nina just got the mix right.

The other joy of Hellmann’s is customising it. For me the consistency is too heavy and it’s just a touch too strong-tasting (the “Light” diet version is horrid). So I stir in a dollop or two of crème fraîche. A little lemon, or a teaspoon of grainy mustard, or a mashed garlic clove, can then turn it into something quite special. People add capers and chopped pickles, soy, chilli, anchovy or even raspberry jam. Predictably, Unilever, which now owns the brand, has cashed in on the fad for adapting Hellmann’s. In Australia it adds extra sugar. In Latin America the most popular version is made with lime juice. In the United States there’s “Hellmann’s Bacon and Tomato Twist”.

Cooks love to cheat. My brother whisks egg yolk into Hellmann’s, because then, he says, it is creamier and tastes just like the real thing. It will fool anyone. It works, though you need a couple of yolks for each 100g of mayonnaise. But I think that’s missing the point: there’s real mayonnaise, and there’s Hellmann’s. Both have their place in our lives.

alex.renton@thetimes.co.uk

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