The Ketchup Chronicles … the unsightly red smear on America’s plate.

13 Jun

Why is it that ketchup gets such a bad rap?

What’s wrong with using a little, or a lot, if you like the way it enhances your food?  Or dances across your taste buds?  Or keeps illness at bay loaded with cancer fighting lycopene?  You like it.  You want it.  You may even…love it.  It’s perfectly legal….but America looks down it’s nose at you for using.  A ketchup junkie who should be thrown away and cast out as a weak, culinary fool with the taste capacity of a common dog.  Hide in the back of a Burger King and squeeze your individual packets you little, little man…

Who really is offended by the big red smear left upon your plate?  Anyone?  Really?  To the ketchup artist, the impossibly abstract trail my last bite leaves as it travels through the remains of my delectable, rich, crimson sauce is a sign of a meal finished that was good to the last drop.

Brothers and sisters….I will have it no more!

Why is it self-regarded “higher-end” restaurants won’t put a ketchup bottle on the table?  Asking the waiter for a bottle….you may as well asked him to fetch you a turd.  Ketchup connoisseurs are forced to politely ask for a small porcelain cup of the unsightly red nectar of the Gods while they laugh at us….pity us….loathe us.

Are we to be scoffed at behind the wait staffs backs when we have to ask for a dozen sweet cups of love to douse our potatoes, or hamburgers, or heaven-forbid we like a little on our steak!  We don’t want your pity.  We don’t need your pity.  All we want is our gawd-damned red bottle and to just be left alone….

Why is it A1 is revered as a steak sauce and proudly sits upon my table at any middle-class steakhouse, while ugly little red-headed cousin, Heinz T Ketchup, is locked away in some forgotten cabinet under the sink…slumming it with the dishwashers.  Some families dirty little secret hidden away like Harry Potter in the cupboard under the stairs.

I watch in awe & jealousy as patrons of restaurants drown their food in ranch dressing, barbecue sauce, and tartar to name just a few …. but I’m forced to languish on in my unholy love for you; my sweet Heinz.

To be continued….


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