On Catsup

My family lived, for a time, just beyond nose distance, from a catsup factory. When we drove east through the magnetic industrial section of town with its mysterious metal-sided buildings, the heavy, red, vaguely scorched aroma of enormous vats of spiced tomatoes, overrode all the other senses.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a little tired house under its inescapable veil, as many families did, spending every day under the deep blanket of cloying, sweet, aggressive, sticky steam.

My sister liked it. And I have always held her in highest admiration. She got the curly hair. She would tan a la mode and knew what clothes to choose. She could read maps at a very tender age and was therefore useful. She also consumed the editorial pages and every book in the library while I was busy elsewhere.

She was inclined to negotiate things--actual issues--with my mother and simply assumed authority over me. She trained me early in various obscure skills which I would likely need some day, such as fetching things quickly, and dragging people up onto bridges, which I practiced quite regularly, pulling her dead weight up onto her bed at night after the lights were out, while singing decoy hymns in Latin so that our parents wouldn't interrupt.

We took ballet lessons together with equal grace. We had sibling cats, which we dressed in our dolls' clothing. We played extravagant games of school and orphans and town; we built a long river in the backyard, making lots of lovely mud. She was my first choice, always, for president of our clubs.

When we were contentious, which wasn't often, I would retreat to our bedroom and throw her dolls savagely around until I was satisfied with my naughtiness and had spent out my horrible vengeance, then, very quietly, humbly, forfeiting any leverage I might have felt was my due, I would rearrange them so she would never know how really awfully I could behave.

There was one subject about which we overtly disagreed. About which I dared open contest, about which I teased her, bravely groaning loudly with disgust. This was her practice of slathering her food with catsup, and, starting unabashedly first thing in the morning.

Scrambled eggs, sandwiches, hamburgers of course, but the potato chips, too, potatoes of all descriptions. I found it fascinating in a scandalous sort of way, watching as she dipped, daintily, pickles and onion rings, chunks of cheese, crusts of bread into little bowls of it. Gravy was swirled artfully with red streaks, like the premonition of sunsets through smoggy skies.

I kept my definite distance.

I did not buy catsup until my children discovered it elsewhere and felt deprived. Even then it kept a low profile on the shelves of my kitchen until my dear sister, the beloved auntie who declares to my children upon arrival, "Now remember, the only rule is that there are no rules!" (response:"HOORAY!!!") initiated them to the cultist pleasure of standing around a small dish of all-American blood-red goo, cackling, smacking their lips, pickles aloft, swooping them through the mire and consuming in this loud fashion, my homemade pickles by the quart, degraded with catsup.

This is a ritual, mind you. Heady and exclusive, defiant, neither gourmet or natural, with no mitigating color compatibility, no subtle food value, just blunt strong contrasting flavors. I think it is a disgrace.

I have, personally, just one use for catsup, a good trick for using the ends of binge bottles languishing in the refrigerator, streaked and mottled, out of favor, replaced, waiting for some highly motivated individual to dispatch them to the garbage. If you suffer such situations try Cheater's Barbecue Sauce. It is too easy.

Heat in a heavy skillet:

1 T. butter

Add and stir around for a few minutes, until transluscent:

1/2 C. chopped onion

1/2 C. chopped green pepper

Add and stir often:

3-4 cloves garlic, minced

When the aroma is definitely garlic, add, swishing out empty bottles of catsup with water if you like:

1 T. Worcestershire sauce

1 C. more or less catsup

Simmer this about 5 minutes, adding a bit of water if necessary.

Now you have a simple barbecue sauce that works on just about anything. You can leave out the vegetables and just use the garlic, too, so there's no excuse.

It's cheap, it travels, it's good with anything charred. I guarantee that most kids like it.

It's got that best-friend flavor.