Mustard And Branston And Ponzu, Oh My!

23 Mar

I have a problem. Hi, my name is Ann, and I’m a condiment addict. Phew! Just saying that makes me feel a little bit better. But sadly, the fact remains true, I have a real problem.

Every time I’m in a grocery store, pretty much anywhere in the world, something always catches my eye, and I buy it. That’s the thing with condiments; they’re cheap, they’re intriguing, and they’re small so you can justify carrying them home across a giant ocean, well, that is if you only buy one bottle.

And just so as we’re clear, I’m not talking about fancy ketchups (although, to be fair, I really love ketchup!) On my last trip to London, I toted home something called “Gentleman’s Relish,” a strangely spiced anchovy paste in a goregous ceramic box that looked more like it should be holding a ladies’ powder than stinky fish paste. When I went to Mexico I brought back so many chilies, salsas and moles I got pulled over at customs. Even my trip to the Adirondacks for a long weekend with my family was fraught with condiment buying danger, namely, the garlic & chipotle barbeque sauce from Dinosaur Bar-B-Que.

But the thing is, I feel very little remorse for my problem, I mean, it could really be worse… I could be addicted to, say, caviar, jetting around the world looking for the perfect roe. That would be pricey. And, seriously, sometimes my addiction can be a boon, like last night when I jazzed up an un-promising sandwich with some Key Lime Mustard and Beet & Horseradish spread (sounds nasty, tasted divne!) So maybe it’s not such a problem, I should just embrace my foible and move on, I mean, it really could be worse.


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