I Didn't Want a Big Wedding—Until Mayo Paid For It

A Love Story Tossed in Sauce

Humans have an innate love for sauce. It’s been a part of our culinary history for as long as we’ve had food to eat. If you’re eating your sandwiches without any condiments, I’d suggest a mental health check-up.

Less than a month into my relationship with Nick, I needed to know where his heart lay—specifically, what kind of sauce he preferred. “I love sauce. I’m the ‘Sauce Man,’” I told him. I needed to know his personal condiment ratio, or this relationship wouldn’t last. His answer? “We’re The Saucemans!” That moment marked the start of a six-year journey filled with hoisin bottles, sauce-themed holiday decorations, and countless requests for mustard, mayo, and ketchup on the bun with extra ketchup.

One Thursday morning in June, I asked Nick, “Do you want to get married in a chicken tender dipping sauce campaign for Hellmann’s?” The brand had launched a contest to promote its new line of chicken tender dips, and it would cover the event. I even proposed with my great-grandfather’s wedding ring inside a ramekin on a plate of fries.

As devoted sauce lovers, it wasn’t absurd that we wanted to be married in a promotional campaign for Hellmann’s. The idea of being wed by a giant anthropomorphic jar of mayo named Manny Mayo was too good to be true.

Our casting call video was competitive. It began with a jingle that Nick and I wrote:

We’re in a saucy love affair
‘Cause we’re a tender lovin’ pair
We’ve got a ramekin of love
A dipping sauce from up above
And neither one of us is going anywhere.

I knew we were the right choice for the gig—as kismet would have it, the wedding date was Nick’s birthday—but I didn’t expect to be chosen. In a world where follower count often trumps authenticity, we offered a brand about as much exposure on social media as a nun on the beach.

Hellmann’s isn’t my favorite condiment, but it’s the elder statesperson in the room. According to my grandmother, it’s the only mayonnaise. Now, it seemed like the only way we could get married.

I’ve always struggled to see the expense of a wedding as anything other than a modern-day dowry that distracts from what truly matters: gathering with loved ones. We weren’t ready to spend money on a traditional wedding.

June passed without a response from Hellmann’s, but Nick and I continued planning our own sauce-themed wedding. Fortunately, we didn’t have to submit a secondary jingle to Sweet Baby Ray’s asking for sponsorship. We found out we were indeed the chosen couple.

We only had two and a half weeks to plan. The brand thought of everything—the florals would feature creams, blues, and subtle pops of yellow. Tenders would be served on silver platters with white ramekins. The Viva Las Vegas Chapel took care of the photographer and DJ. What little we had to do felt like performing a magic trick.

The next day, we found Nick’s suit—seersucker in cream, obviously—in just 15 minutes. Days later, our guest list was set: 60 people said, essentially, “why yes, we will fly to Vegas during the hottest weeks of the year to see you get married by a mayo mascot. No follow-up questions.”

Through a friend, I hired a self-described “hairapyst” named Rockwell De’Vil to do my hair and makeup on a week’s notice. While I had fun trying dresses on at a bridal boutique (to preserve at least one traditional experience with my mom), I couldn’t get past spending thousands on a white dress that anyone else could wear. So I called my friend Andrea Kaye Hansen, a bridal designer in Portland, Oregon, and asked if she could make a dress in two weeks. “I’ve had tighter turnarounds,” she said.

The dress-making process was a testament to the collective strength of women in my life. Andrea sketched a corseted A-line halter gown with a shower of hundreds of daisies, my rebellion against wearing all white. My aunt Cindy helped sew daisies to the dress, and Andrea’s mom helped with my single fitting. I wouldn’t try on the dress until 36 hours before the wedding, and with some last-minute help from my sister-in-law Liz, Andrea finished the dress 10 minutes before I put it on. She even added a blue velvet ribbon around the waist, the perfect touch for a Hellmann’s bride.

The dress, a precious birdcage veil handmade by my best friend Katie and her mom Diane, and the care my mom and sister took in dressing me was all a manifestation of the love that made me.

The splashy brand-sponsored event was shaping up to be exactly what a wedding should be about—complete with a major helping of dipping sauce.

The Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel normally hosts Elvis-themed nuptials, so it was no surprise that our mayo-fueled wedding was an unhinged fever dream that spared no feral joy. A four-foot-tall chicken tender tower was the focal point at the front of the chapel—three tiers of chicken tenders held up by Hellmann’s new dips and bursts of florals. Manny Mayo, our man of the cloth, sealed the deal with, “You may dip the bride,” and presented us with a plate of superlative tenders accompanied by no less than three Hellmann’s dips—garlic parmesan, buttermilk ranch, and my favorite, spicy ranch.

We walked down the aisle as a married couple to the “King of the Hill” theme song and sang “In Spite of Ourselves” to each other in lieu of a first dance. We made a toast to the tenders’ inspirational relationship with the dips and even had an impromptu speech from a guest—one famous chicken mogul’s “long lost cousin” who never was, “Kernel Saunders.”

Marie’s Gourmet Bakery created art from a Hellmann’s recipe—a three-tier yellow cake indeed made with mayonnaise, pristinely frosted in white buttercream topped with an adorable Manny Mayo figurine. Before you scoff, it was incredibly moist and tangy! We opted for Bavarian cream, chocolate mousse, and fresh strawberry for the layers, which Nick was particularly enthusiastic about. I only wish we could have had a bit more (shout out to our server T. for making sure we got a bite of the chocolate mousse).

For those wondering, it was indeed a legal marriage—my sister Larissa was our witness on the marriage license, which she signed in the Elvis-themed chapel. And while we forgot to do our vows at the ceremony, we read them before our friends and family in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel & Casino off historic Fremont Street. “Hellmann’s has mayonnaise and chicken tender dips. And I have you. Ain’t that something worth spreading?”

Reluctant bride that I was, I can’t recommend a silly, goofy, themed wedding enough. It was a spur-of-the-moment adventure, and our family and friends showed up when we needed them. From start to finish, our non-traditional wedding showed me that the right relationship, much like the correct condiment, makes life’s chaotically sandwiched moments go down a little easier.