Rubin Verebes is the managing editor of Foodie and is very opinionated. Transforming his hobby of eating and drinking into a career, he shares his account of Hong Kong’s F&B scene and the worldwide state of dining in Rubin’s Take, a monthly opinion column.
Heinz Tomato Ketchup, the brand that has generated worldwide recognition for the condiment, is 150 years old this year. The vinegary tomato sauce engineered by Henry J. Heinz has done more PR for red sauce than its meagre competitors could only wish for.
Foremost a Hokkien Chinese sour and salty fish sauce, known as kê-tsiap, used in Chinese kitchens during the Ming Dynasty, ketchup was spun into tomato concoction in the 17th and 18th century in the Europe and the US. Additions of mushroom, anchovies, and spices were commonplace. By 1905, Heinz sold five million bottles of the real red stuff in the States.
I do not blame Heinz for creating a condiment that a) tastes poor with a mélange of ingredients that clash and confuse the palate and b) has enjoyed the benefits of free-market capitalism to propel the company into homes worldwide. Instead, I blame us for championing a sauce that we willingly splatter all over our meals to mask bad food or our bad taste.
Using ketchup is a cheap acknowledgement that we are not confident with what we are eating or cooking, preferring a sweet, vinegary, and artificial-tasting tomato sauce to overwhelm any subtle flavours found on the table.
I will admit that Heinz is the best option found in the bad crop of ketchups. The bottles of ketchup found on supermarket shelves below Heinz range in quality from questionable to downright insulting to the livelihood of the tomatoes that had to sacrifice their last few days in the sun in order to sit pickled with fructose, glucose, and vinegar to achieve an awful flavour.
A visit to a steakhouse almost always involves a selection of mustard – typically Dijon, English, and wholegrain – to pair with my meaty, fatty steaks. Mustard as a condiment serves a strong purpose on the table: to cut fat and introduce piquant and sour flavours that work with meatier flavours.
Ketchup, I argue, does not have such a purpose. Its off-putting sugary base cannot rightly pair with any foodstuff. Fries? It renders the crisp potato skin soggy. Burgers? It completely masks the salty touch of a beef patty. Potatoes? It kills the texture. Eggs? Settle for salt, pepper, and hot sauce instead. Steak? Give me a break.
My hatred for ketchup is rooted in primary school where we ate sticky rice, boiled hot dogs or deep-fried breaded chicken fillets, and dusty, stodgy pita. In lieu of any colour and salt in our beige meals, we would season our carbs and proteins with handfuls of soy sauce and rouge red off-brand ketchup.
Classmates would pair their red sauce with everything – tuna sandwiches, plain buttered pasta, cheese, watermelon, seared salmon – and, sometimes, even eat it by itself.
Foregoing my former childhood tales of picky eating and now operating with more refined taste buds, I still cannot shake my detest for ketchup. It’s the worst condiment, which has unjustly found global fame in our kitchens and on our restaurant tables.
It has been a decade since I last had a willing serving of store-bought ketchup, but my money goes out to the restaurants that are breaking the dominion of naturally produced, independent ketchup.
The last time I stuck out for natural ketchup was during a burger meal at the late Bone & Blades in Sai Ying Pun circa 2023 with a home-made smoky and peppery BBQ-style ketchup. It was a joy to eat it as I dreamt about a world where ketchup doesn’t suck and we can enjoy its harmonising powers.
Can I compel you to make the correct choice when reaching for the condiment basket the next time you’re dining out? No. But I hope that by sharing my reasons for my ketchup hatred, you may look deep within and understand that we deserve better for our plates than using a gross sweet red sauce to flavour our food.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author’s and do not represent or reflect the views of Foodie.
