Somewhere along the evolution of restaurants, a little hitch slipped into the mainstream. Most assuredly, it was allowed entry as a sly cost-cutting move. But in doing so, participating restaurants cut their proverbial noses off to spite their food-serving faces. What exactly am I referring to?
The fascist action of restaurants removing ketchup bottles from their tables.
Listen, I’m all about cost-cutting and conservation. I get it. But somethings are deal breakers.
I suppose it would be less wasteful for me to get rid of my car and ride my bike to work. But guess what? NOT HAPPENING, hippies.
I’m an adult and I have a job that doesn’t exactly allow me to rollerblade or scooter to work. So instead, I try to curb my pollution by…I don’t know…not smoking huge cigars like Tony Soprano?
Ok, forget that. Pollution isn’t the point. THE POINT is that you don’t compromise essentials. You can cut out the fluff. That’s fine, but don’t mess with the crucial elements of life like OnDemand Ketchup.
NOTHING makes me more irate than receiving my meal with a thimble full of ketchup. Don’t insult me. Don’t act like a millimeter of Ketchup is appropriate. It’s not. IT’S NOT. Give ME the ketchup bottle and be on your way.
Where I work, we have a dish of candy. Butterscotch, peppermints and Werther’s Originals are all gloriously available for our customers should they acquire a poor taste in their mouth or sense the oppression of halitosis within their wearied mouth.
I suppose that, conceivably, any customer could randomly empty the entire contents of the dish into their purse (or if it’s Indiana Jones, their satchel). But you know what, no one ever has. Why? Because these kinds of things are governed by a code.
Smart people call this idea a more (MOR-ay). It’s the notion that a particular society has a collective group of virtues. Like we don’t eat each other, we don’t hurt children, we don’t pillage candy dishes and WE DON’T WASTE A PRECIOUS COMMODITY LIKE KETCHUP.
Restaurant industry, if you’re out there, look at me. Look deep into my blue/green eyes. I’m a protector. A Patron of the condiment, if you will.
It’s a precious commodity to me. I love it and I believe when the Wisemen were brainstorming about what to present to 8lb, 6oz* newborn Baby Jesus, I believe that ketchup was in the mix. It probably, BARELY lost out to frankincense and let’s face it, ketchup would have been a HUGE hit in the manger. The donkeys would have gone CRAZY. Ketchup is like catnip for donkeys.** It would have been nuts.
But understand this: I don’t want to glop a tsunami of ketchup on my plate just to waste it. No. I just want you to release those condiment shackles and restore unto me the joy of my dining experience and renew a bright red bottle of ketchup to me.
I don’t think that’s asking too much. This is still America, right?
What about you? How do you feel about the fascist actions of the restaurant industry?
* Source on that info is Ricky Bobby (Talledega Nights 2006).
** Currently, there is no scientific evidence to support this claim.