Let’s talk about condiments.
My wife and I were out to dinner last week with a few friends at a local restaurant and the food was wonderful. The conversation was fun, the service was great, the drinks were ample and the music was fantastic. All in all, a great evening out on the town.
There was one small snag, though: condiments.
For dinner I ordered a burger – which according to the menu came with bacon jam, cheddar cheese, mustard and lettuce. I was pleased that the menu did not provide any adjectives for the beef that made up the burger. Adjectives, such as the seemingly obligatory “grass-fed,” show up on plenty of menus these days. Except my local agricultural contacts tell me that’s a bunch of proverbial horse-pucky. I’ve had more than one local farmer explain to me that if you’re eating beef that’s only eaten grass, you’re not going to enjoy the experience.
On the side I ordered herbed fries. In an apparently similar nod to the brevity associated with the beef, the fries no longer needed the modifier “French.”
When the food arrived and my plate was placed in front of me I first looked at the food to ensure it was what I ordered. The burger was prepared properly and cooked to the requested medium. I generally prefer my fries a bit thicker, but these string fries were perfectly cooked with a little crunch on the outside and a soft, chewy inside. I then scanned the tabletop for spices and condiments. Specifically, ketchup. And possibly a little salt.
Nothing.
No ketchup, salt, pepper, mustard, relish, sugar, or any other condiment was to be found on the table. Granted, my immediate needs were just ketchup and salt – I never use pepper, relish or sugar, and only sparingly use mustard – but my tablemates might have had some condiment needs as well.
I admit it: I am a ketchup lover. Yes, I’m one of those people you hear about who believes ketchup is its own food group. Through most of my life I was the proverbial walking Heinz billboard (although these days I’m a Trader Joe’s Organic Ketchup billboard). My feeling is that there is very little food that can’t be made better with ketchup. In fact, many foods are simply delivery mechanisms for ketchup.
As I was growing up this caused no issues within my immediate family – it was more-or-less the norm. But as you get out into the world you discover not everyone shares your undying devotion to this tomato-based product. When I was invited to my first Passover Seder, I caused a minor stir by putting ketchup in the matzo ball soup.
But here I was having a delightful time at a local eatery with a burger and fries in front of me and no easy access to ketchup. I don’t think it’s too outlandish to want to garnish a burger and fries with ketchup. And, as you may have noticed above in the description of the burger, there were no tomato-based products at all on this burger. This restaurant’s regular preparation of their burger included not only no ketchup, but no tomato slices either.
Now, I’m certainly not averse to eating new combinations of old standards, and I absolutely appreciate the lengths and effort that chefs go through to get an interesting meal in front of a customer. I’m generally willing to try something in the way the kitchen best thinks it’s presented before I go altering the flavor to fit my admittedly pedestrian taste buds. So I did. I took a bite of the burger and a few of the fries.
And I decided I no longer needed salt, but ketchup was definitely going to increase the quality of my dining experience. So I asked the server if I could have some, received a positive response and off they went to retrieve it.
I wasn’t sure how the ketchup was going to be offered – squeeze container, glass bottle, individual packets, bowl and spoon – and didn’t care, but the longer it took for the ketchup to arrive the more I wondered if I was going to be subject to the new “form” of ketchup. And many minutes later I discovered I was. I received a single small stainless steel container with a dollop of ketchup inside.
“Oh my,” I thought, as I breathed a heavy sigh.
I’m not sure when or why this form of ketchup delivery became a thing. Is it because it offers a nice clean presentation on the table? Is it because ketchup costs money and the restaurant is invoking portion control? Is it to stem off food waste so massive globs of ketchup don’t get thrown out in the garbage or down the drain? Is it because of food contamination concerns with multi-use containers sitting freely on tables? Did the COVID pandemic play a part in this?
All I know is ketchup is just the tip of the condiment iceberg. As I noted, there were no other condiments on the table either. And this is becoming more and more a common occurrence when we go out to eat. In many restaurants, the days of the classic metal holder filled with all the condiments you could desire are long gone. It’s bad enough you can’t go to a Pittsburgh Steelers game at Heinz Field anymore, but now if you want to garnish your food – after tasting it first, of course – you have to make a special request. While your food gets a bit colder.
On this particular evening, rather than immediately requesting additional ketchup – which I knew I would easily consume – I took this as an opportunity to listen to the universe. Perhaps it was telling me that I needed to enjoy my friends, the atmosphere and my beverage with a slightly smaller amount of ketchup. Maybe it’s not all about me and I should accept this sign that I would still enjoy the evening without tomato puree, organic sugar, organic white vinegar, salt, organic onion powder and organic spices.
So I did. And the evening went swimmingly.
But to those restaurants who are pursuing this “no condiments unless asked” policy, my willingness to listen to the universe may not last forever. And to those restaurants who continue to offer me many ways to accent my food by stocking your tables with all sorts of condiments: I salute you. Keep the party going!
