About noon every Saturday my husband Don walks into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator door, stares left, right, up and down and then asks-- whether anyone is there or not-- "Where's the mayonnaise?" This has been going on for twenty-five years.
There has to be some Mars-Venus, right-brain/left-brain reason men can't find things in the fridge. A friend of mine--a real man's man--once suggested that someone invent the Peg-Board refrigerator. You'd open the door and the baloney would just be hanging there, like a hammer.
Maybe the answer for my family, though, comes directly from restaurant kitchens: a Hobart Q Series refrigerator, with "mobile food files," shelves that roll out and slide onto a little dolly with casters. My husband could just open the fridge door, transfer its entire contents, and roll the cart over to me so I could point to the mayonnaise.