REVIEW: Kraft Sandwich Shop Chipotle Mayo

If the chipotle pepper was a person, she would be a prostitute who gets around so much that she can’t even keep track of who she’s flavored or what fast food menu she’s been on. I feel a little sorry for her, because you know it’s not her fault. Major food brands have been pimping this once unique senorita that used to be found only at the finest of Mexican restaurants.

Even though she’s been exploited and used in almost every way conceivable, I still find her flavor delicious and I’m happy she’s been exploited even more by ending up in the Kraft Sandwich Shop Chipotle Mayo.

I don’t want to sound snobbish, but there was a time when I thought I was too good for mayo, refusing to have it touch my sandwiches. Mayonnaise is as boring as watching an LPGA Tournament (also Tiger-less PGA Tournaments). I guess that’s the reason why it comes in white.

Despite receiving a What Not to Wear-like makeover a few years ago, slimming down from a wide jar, which is the equivalent of horizontal stripes on a fat guy, to a sexy squeeze bottle, I still thought mayo was as dull as watching a chick with a skunk stripe in her hair and a guy who has more argyle than the people of Argyll tell people they have no fashion sense.

But all that changed when I was introduced to the Kraft Sandwich Shop Chipotle Mayo, which swept me off of my feet and caused my taste buds to orgasm in unison. I never would have thought a condiment could do that to me, and I never would have considered mayonnaise being the one I’d go all porno with, but this spicy mayo brings out a side of me that could only be found in the seediest of neighborhoods on the internet where malt liquor flows from fountains and Paladins are turning tricks for plate armor.

The Kraft Sandwich Shop Chipotle Mayo has a gentle kick that really enhances the flavor of any cold cut you can slap between two slices of bread, with the exception of the barf-worthy olive loaf or the even creepier macaroni and cheese loaf.

I hate when companies say their meals are “bistro-inspired” or taste as good as a panini from a quaint little café in Tuscany (*cough* Lean Cuisine *cough*), but Kraft did their research on this mayo, because it reminded me of the spread on a chipotle chicken wrap that I used to order at a restaurant in Metro Boston.

Thanks to this spicy mayo, I now have one less reason to visit my old stomping grounds. The only things left to attract me back to Boston are seeing the foliage and visiting those weird people who gave me life and are still supporting my lazy ass.

Kraft has other flavors of mayo in their new Sandwich Shop line. I’ve tried the garlic and herb, but it didn’t do anything for me like the Kraft Sandwich Shop Chipotle Mayo did. What can I say, I love the spicy flavor and sluttiness chipotle brings.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 tbsp – 40 calories, 4 grams of fat, 0.5 grams of saturated fat, 2 grams of polyunsaturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 2.5 milligrams of cholesterol, 120 milligrams of sodium, 2 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of fiber, 0 grams of sugar and 0 grams of protein.)

Item: Kraft Sandwich Shop Chipotle Mayo
Price: $2.59
Size: 12 ounces
Purchased at: Target
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Damn good. Makes a boring sandwich a “gourmet” sandwich with one little squirt. Doesn’t have that globby mayonnaise appearance. Malt liquor flowing from fountains. Argyle sweaters.
Cons: No fat-free version available yet. Olive loaf. Paladins turning tricks. Macaroni and Cheese loaf. Watching golf.