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Pony: On condiments and harmony
8.31.2009
I like fancy condiments. In fact, when I am feeling in a particular funk, I buy new gourmet condiments and eat them on fancy crackers. That's how you can tell I am on the road the recovery. Although a shelf of tiny jars of imported tapenade and date chutney might signal a spendthrift (or a downward spiral to those who know me well), to me it brings comfort.
I have one request: When you live with me, I control the fridge. I don't care so much about the bathroom, which can be hosed down in 5 minutes. Or the bedroom, which is home to dueling trenches of discarded clothing. But feel my fury should I not have room for my farmer's market organic greens because someone thought it a good idea to store a family-sized bottle of no-name mesquite barbecue sauce on the bottom shelf. That is not a condiment. That is an affront to tiny jars of delicious sauces everywhere.
Therefore, the following jars are to be removed by morning, or they will go out with the recycling:
The President's Choice beer and chiplotle sauce in the 1-litre bottle
The Our Compliments jar of honey barbecue sauce
The Bick's relish aux piments rouge (I was too repulsed to turn the jar around and read the translation)
We can keep the psuedo-gourmet "zesty" cherry jam that no one touched until I figured out it is the secret ingredient in kick-ass marinade for flank steak.
The ketchup can stay, but only as a tantrum aversion for a certain co-habitant whose palate is not yet sufficiently developed. Because it's all about harmony. And balancing the sweet with the sour.
