Really Good Pimiento Cheese

We Southerners don’t need to be told all that much about pimiento cheese, I don’t guess. We usually know at a glance if it’s good or not. Sometimes we can tell by the cheese-to-mayonnaise ratio, other times the china pattern gives it away. (Even husbands and small children quickly learn to recognize which dishes belong to whom.) Some of us make really good pimiento cheese ourselves, and some of us don’t. Some of us haven’t had really good pimiento cheese since the last proper funeral, baby shower, or church social. I hear, though, that good pimiento cheese making may be becoming a lost art? Surely that’s not right.

A reliable source recently told me he knew a woman who made terrific pimiento cheese, but utterly refused to give out the recipe. This woman went so far as to tell her best friend that she (the friend) could have the recipe when she (the woman) died. Sure enough, when the pimiento cheese maven passed away, the friend received an envelope with the recipe in it from a lawyer. (And, no, I don’t know what it said.)

Always game for research, I Googled “pimiento cheese” to see if anything interesting popped up. I found two things of note. First, pimiento cheese actually originated in New York City. The New Yorkers combined two brand new products, Philadelphia Cream Cheese and jarred pimientos, into a sandwich spread and left it at that. Bless their hearts. When that anemic-looking, bland goo made its way down South though, we fixed it.

The second is that a restaurant in Homewood, Alabama makes a pimiento cheese pizza. In fact, Pizzeria GM (600 Oak Grove Road) puts not only pimiento cheese on this incredibly popular pizza, but also Conecuh sausage, bacon, and jalapenos. If that doesn’t make you almost tear up, I don’t know what will. (Maybe Mara will check in and tell us all about it. She is our Greater Birmingham correspondent, after all.)

The online love for that pimiento cheese pizza is encouraging. Good pimiento cheese has always had lots of uses. Both full-sized pimiento cheese sandwiches and finger sandwiches are always well-received. But piminto cheese is also wonderful stuffed into celery, spread on crackers, spread on apple slices, piled on top of burgers, put into quesadillas with pepper jelly, etc. My own current favorite is broiled pimiento cheese toast for breakfast. Good pimiento cheese pairs well with a Coke, a beer, or a glass of wine. It’s especially good on crackers or celery with a bloody mary. (Wait, what? Does that mean brunch can work like a cocktail party? With pick-up food? Why, yes. Yes it can. This is the Gulf Coast, after all. Bloodies, pimiento cheese, boiled shrimp, deviled eggs, pigs in blankets, happy friends? What more do you really want from a late breakfast on the weekend?)

Here’s how to make bad pimiento cheese: Use random pre-shredded cheese out of a bag, a blob of random mayo–or, worse yet, Miracle Whip (shudder)–a jar of pimientos just dumped in, and nothing else. But please don’t do that. Thank you.

Below is how I make my favorite Really Good Pimiento Cheese. It’s a basic recipe and it’s not rocket science, but the details matter. You must use quite good, very sharp, cheddar cheese that you’ve grated yourself, and good mayonnaise, but don’t overdo it. Repeat: you must not overdo the mayonnaise. The amount below may seem like not enough mayo, but trust me, it is. Slimy pimiento cheese is icky. If you’re spreading it on soft bread, you may want to let the pimento cheese sit out for a few minutes to soften. It won’t take long.

Really Good Pimiento Cheese

1 lb. Kraft Extra-Sharp Cheddar Cheese, no substitutes, grated by hand
1 4 oz. jar diced pimientos, drained
1 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. black pepper
⅓ cup mayonnaise (Hellman’s or Duke’s)

Combine all ingredients and stir with a large spoon until no mayo shows. It will look mayonnaise-y for a minute or two, but then the mayo will suddenly disappear. When it disappears, you’re done. This pimento cheese will keep in the fridge for at least 10 days.