Roses Are Red,
Ketchup Is ... Violet?
Me, I like my steaks cold-blooded rare, my egg yolks runny, and if someone finds a way to jiggle sweet corn genes to produce an ear with its own ready-grown handles, more power to them.
After all, what fun would life be if we didn't tempt the Reaper from time to time?
But that's just risking life and limb. Grappling with terminal gross is a whole 'nother story.
Some years ago, one of the big dairy companies announced it was developing a carbonated milk. Luckily I never saw it actually marketed; there's just no way my stomach would sit still through a 60-second commercial for fizzy milk.
But now comes H.J. Heinz Co., who, not satisfied with 57 varieties of pickles and condiments, is going for No. 58 -- purple ketchup.
Technically, the purple ketchup would be No. 59 -- because, you see, Heinz is already claiming phenomenal success for a "Blastin' Green" ketchup, introduced last year.
How, you ask, could green, or -- urp! -- PURPLE ketchup become such a marketing blockbuster?
According to Heinz, the decisive demographic on the "Blastin' Green" ketchup was -- get this -- kids.
This, I don't get.
Aren't children the picky eaters? As in, "Ewww, don't let the green beans touch my Jell-O?" The ones who for whom dinnertime can quickly become an impromptu "Fear Factor" episode, who look at a spoonful of peas like it was a platter of sheep's eyes?
And yet, when their ketchup suddenly comes out green, they squeal with delight and snarf it up to the tune of 10 million bottles since its introduction?
What IS wrong with kids these days?
From my own dietary standpoint, I don't care what color Heinz makes their ketchup. I don't eat the stuff anyway -- red, green or whatever shade they may pull out of the Crayola box.
I just can't trust a foodstuff so indecisive that it can't settle on its own spelling -- "ketchup" or "catsup," not even my spell checker knows for sure -- and never mind what color it can't make up its mind to be.
All I ask is that Heinz keep the visuals to a minimum in their advertising, and for Heaven's sake, don't package the stuff for consumption in public view.
It's like this: I would have no problem if Heinz offered up neon-blue, glow-in-the-dark, nut-cluster ketchup, so long as people used it in the privacy of their own homes, with the lights out and the blinds drawn.
It's freedom of choice, and that's what makes America great.
But if I'm sitting next to you at Luby's, gently dosing my Stephen-King-bloody ribeye with tasty and easily-spelled A-1 -- and the ketchup you're glopping on your fried fish comes out any color other than red -- I'm calling the gross-out police.
There's just no way I can savor my meal if some budding Picasso at the next table is swirling green and purple ketchup into his mashed potatoes, and I'm certain there's something actionable in the Civil Code under "loss of gustatory consortium." Or just plain "loss of lunch," if my tummy decides to handle the case pro se.
There are adventures in dining -- habanero salsa comes to mind -- and then, well ... there's purple ketchup. Or catsup. Your choice.
To paraphrase the old nursery rhyme, "I never saw a purple ketchup, and I never hope to see one/But I can tell you anyhow -- I'd rather use Worcestershire sauce ... "
... Whose pronunciation may be up for grabs, but by God, its spelling is consistent!
