You Just Need More Ketchup?

Los Angeles, California


I have a sortakinda love-hate thing going with ketchup/catsup. Seriously, how can you really get down with a food that doesn't even have a consistent spelling? I must confess to a checkered history with it. For starters, I find ketchup too sweet. Especially since it's something that you're supposed to put on french fries; salty french fries (two of my favorite things: potatoes and salt). Put catsup on them, and you're looking to ruin what french fries have going for them. I'd rather dip them in something savory like garlic aioli. But I'm not picky. I'll dip them in ranch dressing, or even tartar sauce if that's what you've got.


Then there's that other thing. I often attribute it to being a Scorpio, since I have it on authority that other Scorpios do it (for example, my sister, who did it to me). Sometimes an incident happens with something or someone, and it's like a curtain comes down. We're out. It's not my favorite thing, neither about myself nor those other Scorpios. But, in our defense, I must say that it takes a lot for us to get to that point. Still, there it is. And, believe it or not, that trait did once raise its ugly head with . . . ketchup.


It happened the summer I graduated high school; spent mostly barefoot, in Waikiki. I had come over with my family and had brought along a girlfriend. We were from LA -- an easy hop over to Hawaii, and fairly cheap on student standby, so there were people we knew there, plus we were making new friends fast. When it was time to leave, I asked my parents if we could stay on with a friend of ours who had a summer rental apartment. And, inexplicably, they said yes. Did I mention that I was only seventeen? Anyway, they said I could stay for another week, which eventually turned into a month, then another month. They finally cut me off just before I was scheduled to start college in September. Believe me, I wanted to stay longer. But a lot of our friends were returning to school in and around LA, so we begrudgingly came home.


But, before we did, there was that catsup incident. It happened at The Snack Shop, this cool coffee shop that was on the grounds of The Royal Hawaiian hotel for a couple of decades. It looked like this. I was spending my second summer in Waikiki; the first being the one after I graduated junior high school, when my mom, sister, and cousin decided to attend summer session at the University of Hawaii. The Snack Shop was a destination of choice for my younger cousins and me. They served iced tea with a slice of pineapple; they had the best teriyaki burgers; not to mention the macadamia nut pancakes; mahi (mahi mahi) and eggs; mahi burgers, and pretty good hot fudge sundaes, if memory serves. Like many restaurants in Hawaii, it had a roof, but the walls opened to the outdoors. Birds often joined us.


But, back to that summer after high school, where one day, after we were on our own, my friend and I went for breakfast at The Snack Shop, and she ordered: ham and eggs, scrambled; hashed brown potatoes. Then she reached for the ketchup bottle. She poured it on everything -- the ham, the eggs, the potatoes, and pools of it! It looked like a crime scene. I conjured up Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, when she observes Cecil Jacobs pouring syrup all over his food and blurts out: What in the Sam Hill are you doing?!? It was like Antietam, only her food, not the ground, ran red. You think I'm putting too fine a point on this? Well, I'm paying no heed, as I strongly suspect that this started my aversion to catsup. I'll use a little of it. But if I see too much -- Holy condiments, Batman . . . . I'm outta there.


I've got a bit of an issue with the Heinz thing, too. And I'm not being snobby. I like Best Foods (Hellman's to you on the other coast) mayonnaise, and even Heinz mustard (the ballparkish variety). And I eat hot dogs -- I mean, what's not to like about kid-friendly food and condiments? So, my credentials here are sound. But, aside from the too-much ketchup thing, I also find the Heinz brand of catsup too sweet. Somewhere I read a taste-test where Whole Foods 365 Organic Tomato Ketchup came in highly rated, and that is what I now buy. It's a little smoky, with almost a barbecue sauce under taste. It's not bad.


Billy, who was born in Minneapolis, reminds me that a catsup deficiency can be a serious problem. As Jim cajoles Barb each week on A Prairie Home Companion: You just need more ketchup. We've learned, from that same source, that catsup has natural mellowing agents. And, I can certainly use mellowing, so maybe I do suffer from this deficiency. Still, when I'm jonesing for roasted or fried potatoes, I want something else to dip and here it is:


Cayenne Aioli


2 cups           mayonnaise
4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
3                   garlic cloves, smashed, minced or pressed or whathaveyou
1 teaspoon  cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon  Dijon mustard


Whisk together to blend. Let flavors develop overnight by storing in refrigerator.


Makes one pint.


This originally showed up at our table as an accompaniment to artichokes. It often makes an appearance when steamed asparagus is about. I specify steamed because when we roast asparagus, we generally toss it with some fancy olive oil, lots of pepper, some sea salt and a good dusting of freshly grated Parmesan cheese. I suppose you could still dip those spears into this aioli, but we don't throw caution to the wind in that way. And of course, you're not going to put catsup on the vegetables named above. That is, unless you are a philistine, or in the throes of that ketchup deficiency. In which case, I would say, go head on. But, please, don't be dumping it on everything. Nobody needs that much mellowing. Not even Scorpios. You must trust me about this. And, thank you for reading my blog.

Fifty Shades of Grey Book Club

Los Angeles, California


It's still spring, people! Ok so, for those of you who know me, I thought you'd get a big LOL out of this post title. For those of you who don't, and were actually expecting to find a circle of people here who appreciate that (or those) silly book(s), let me write this about that: You are SO barking up the wrong bedpost!


Don't get me wrong -- I read this book. Once it actually hit the shelves at Barnes and Noble (and then I saw it being sold to the masses at Costco), I had to read it, even though I knew it was The Bridges of Madison County all over again. I've always rather nastily enjoyed the memory of some of the people who gushed to me about TBoMC, trying to back-pedal when they figured out which way the wind was blowing about it. But, when a book that is so excoriated in the reviews does this well, it makes me curious. I even finished it. But I complained to my hairstylist, Bridgette, about it. She was the first person I knew who had actually read it. Before her, it was only a lot of chatter on radio and online. The sex is more or less always the same, was one of the comments I made to Bridgette. No it's not, she said. He flips her over every now and then. I also complained to my frister, Lydia (known in these parts by her monogram: LOL): The writing is terrible. She responded that the writing in books like this is never good. It's erotica! She reminded me. What about Henry Miller? And D.H. Lawrence? They got pretty hot, and still, still they refrained themselves from writing pithy phrases like: Oh my!


The set-up is an obvious play on the Austin/Bronte school of innocent lass (virgin! Yes, a college graduate virgin. Really? Really?!?) who encounters a man with a dark side. In fact, the description of Christian Grey with his auburn hair, sounds a bit like Colin Firth to me. But that could just be me. I tend to plug in the image of Colin Firth wherever I can. But I digress. Considering the possibilities with this premise, it, unfortunately, missed its opportunity to be campy. Don't know if it's still in print, but Terry Southern's Candy was a very funny send-up; an erotic novel which made the rounds when I was in junior high school, spending much of its time between the mattress and box springs in many of our homes.


Truth is, as I told Stella, a young clerk at Barnes and Noble, you can learn a lot from a bad book. And stop snickering -- I'm talking about writing. A really well-written book can seem daunting to your writing skills. But a badly-written one is like a handbook for what not to do. She was smart enough to not start her book with it was a dark and stormy night. Although, frankly, that might have been a step in the right direction.


But who am I to argue with twenty million copies sold in the USA alone? Especially since I bought one of them, which has since gone out of the house (into the hands of one of my fristers). It puts one solidly in mind of Henry Mencken's quote: No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public. Still, if you want to go with the popular heavy-hitters I'm all for reading the Harry Potter books. They are fun, funny, and increasingly complex. I miss them, and am greatly looking forward to Harry growing to middle-age and then being portrayed in a next round of films by . . . you guessed it . . . Colin Firth. Holy Thunderbolt! I think I'm on to something here!! Thanks for reading my blog, even though this post was all downhill after the title (aren't they all?). Loved that title, though!