I have never liked it on anything except fries, and even that is a stretch.
Ketchup. Ugh. There is nothing better to ruin a good hot dog or hamburger (or veggie dog/burger, pour moi) than an overzealous friend who puts ketchup on it for you while you save them a seat. It’s like someone handed you the original Mona Lisa, in all its glory, and you decided to silk-screen Kim Kardashian’s face overtop.
The crazy Heinz green and purple ketchup almost got me to come around as a child, but the discontinued it before I could make a second trip to the hot dog stand outside Canadian Tire.
My distaste of ketchup solidified when I started dating a guy who loved it, and was a horrible house keeper. He also didn’t know how much ketchup he’d need, and always overestimated. This resulted in, you guessed it, dirty plates with little puddles of ketchup on them sitting around. Have you ever smelt ketchup in that context? Say goodbye to your appetite.
I am a mustard supporter. Mustard 4 eva. Dijon, honey, whatever. As long as it’s got that nice bite to it and it’s not red, I’m down.
There is this restaurant in Summerside, PEI that serves the most delicious chipotle mayo-type sauce (I have no idea) with its beautiful, crispy fries. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. With so many delicious alternatives, why ketchup?!
Pulp Fiction may mock it but I’m just waiting for IcelandAir to offer me a good deal. TTYL, Ketchup-fiends!