Ketchup. I like it. It is quite tasty. The problem with ketchup, though, is that the consumption of it in mass quantities is generally frowned upon. I find this to be absurd: the fruity goodness of crushed tomatoes is both delicious and nutritious, something that cannot be said for many of Mother Nature’s oh-so-wholesome children. That’s right broccoli, I’m talking to you.
Getting back to the matter at hand (i.e. ketchup), I find the public’s generally prejudiced view of the sweet and salty commodity more than disturbing. One woman I spoke with went as far as to say: “[ketchup] is a vile and squalid substance; I would sooner bludgeon my children to death than serve them an ounce that putrid slime!” I told her in protest that should she simply taste a small portion on a tenderly baked potato crisp, her opinion of the toothsome delicacy would alter entirely. She was not convinced, rather, she attempted to stick me in the gut with a crudely improvised shank; but who was I to force my beliefs upon the mind of this learned individual?
No, the doctor’s examination of my dilemma was not entirely conclusive, and so I was inclined to resume my quest elsewhere. My next stop was the Heinz factory, located in Alderney, Wisconsin*. I hopped on first flight down to the American Mid-West, where my search for a solution to the daunting ketchup quandary would continue.
Upon my arrival at the factory, I was greeted by a Greg Hibalder, an aspiring young Heinz lobbyist. Young Greg assured me that Heinz brand tomato catsup was indeed a tasty treat, and that I need not pursue the matter further. At first I was relieved: searching for the truth was becoming a tiresome endeavour indeed; one I would likely give up were it not so fascinating. But then I realized: if I could not solve this mystery, who would carry on my legacy? For how long would our children be deprived of the ketchup knowledge they so rightly deserved? I could not give up my quest; the cause for which I stood was too noble, too great.
And so I endured.
