In a world/TV full of Nigella Lawsons and Masterchefs where
not only store bought tomato ketchup is not just frowned upon but vehemently
opposed, I, with all my heart, love ketchup. There. I said it. The political
incorrectness of the statement or the coolness quotient aside, what I don’t
understand is what’s wrong with loving something that has an “overpowering”
taste, when that is flavor that I long for? Perfectly pureed tomatoes with
artificial flavouring. I love that. Its cooked long enough to ensure no one has
to worry about nutritional value. Heck no one cares about the nutritional value
here. Even the artificial flavor added just helps me to pick my favourite
brand. It gives me options and I like picking my favourite.
I think where people go wrong is when they judge ketchup as
an accompaniment. That’s not my vantage point. I think of it as one ingredient/”produce”
that I can’t live without. And I want this ingredient to be a part of
everything else I eat. Don’t you like cheese in everything you eat? What about
chicken? I see no one complaining about chicken in every dish they eat. They
are happy. Let me be happy too!
Ketchup, to me, is that special something that has magical
qualities to enhance all that goes into my stomach. Ounce after ounce of
deliciousness that it is, poured into a plate of pakodas, French fries,
burgers, paranthas, anything and everything. The French fries and the paranthas
then become those dishes that go well with my core ingredient - ketchup.
To me ketchup brings hope. The mere presence of it brings
the assuredness of a culinary delight about to ensue. It’s a promise that
whatever I eat, it will be ‘to taste’. An empty table at a restaurant with a
ketchup bottle on it is a sign of good things coming my way. I hate restaurants
that assume that a bottle of soy sauce, vinegar, olive oil, or some crappy home
made concoction is good enough to substitute MY ketchup. I take offense to
that.
Pass the ketchup, please.
