Are You Sure I'm the Father? I Could Have Sworn I Used a Condiment.

One of the first things I noticed about Bruce's family was their love of condiments of all varieties. Spices, ketchups, and mayos of all kinds are well-utilized. I knew I had seen how others lived when I saw Bruce's dad squirting ketchup into chicken noodle soup. It was a hard moment for me- I can't stomach bottled ketchup. For some reason packets from a fast food restaurant don't bother me, but cold ketchup from my own fridge makes me gag. I think it has something to do with the coagulated bits that inevitably crust around the lid.

One of the fundamental disagreements in our marriage has been about the treatment of meat. We agree that one should eat it, so at least we have that binding us together. Bruce falls into the camp of marinades- steak sauce, brown sugar, garlic, teriyaki, vinegar, BBQ, lime juice, frankly it just doesn't matter to him as long as at least a dozen items from our cupboard and fridge have been dumped into a ziploc. I'm a purist. I've lost count of the number of times I have said this exact sentence: "You know, Bruce, I just really like my meat to taste like MEAT." A little salt, a little pepper, and that is all that is necessary. I like to taste chicken when I'm eating chicken, and beef when I'm eating beef.

I guess you can tell who Kiki belongs to.

There is a single egg under that massive pile of ketchup.

Go ahead, blame stocky calves, sarcasm, and atheism on the Barratts. However, ketchup worship falls squarely on the shoulders of the Hatch family.