YOU GOT ANY KETCHUP?

January 21, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

You got any ketchup? Those four words have probably caused me more grief than anything else I’ve ever said. You see, I like ketchup. Now, you wouldn’t think this would be a big problem, but sometimes it is, believe me. Some people look down on you if you eat ketchup. But before we get into that, I think we should hit on a little history of ketchup. (Sounds a lot like the Food Channel don’t it?)

A lot of people don’t know how ketchup came about, but I do, and you know me, if I know something about something, I’ll tell you about it. Ask my wife. Anywho, here’s the story of ketchup.

Once upon a time, there were three little tomatoes; Papa Tomato, Momma Tomato, and Baby Tomato. They were walkin’ down the road one day and Baby Tomato kept fallin’ behind. He was doin’ little kid stuff like throwin’ rocks, kickin’ cans, and stuff like that. Well, Momma Tomato would go back and try to hurry him along, because Papa Tomato was gettin’ perturbed as daddies tend to do. It wasn’t long before Baby Tomato again was laggin’ behind. Momma Tomato started to go back again, when Papa Tomato stopped her.

“I’ll handle this,” said Papa Tomato, and he went back this time. He walked up to Baby Tomato and put his foot on top of him and stomped down and squashed him. “CATCH UP!” he said.

Get it? Catch up?

Okay, so it’s stupid, but that’s the way I learned it.

Now, I don’t eat ketchup on everything, but there are certain foods that I do. Take chili for example. Chili just doesn’t taste like chili to me without ketchup on it. I can still remember the first chili I ever put in my mouth. It was Wolf Brand Chili. I still remember the old Wolf Brand Chili commercials.

“How long has it been since you had a hot steamin’ bowl of Wolf Brand Chili? Heh, heh. Well, that’s too long.”

Anywho, I stuck a spoon full of it in my mouth and it was so hot it took the hide off my tongue. I almost spit it back in the bowl.

“Here,” my momma said. “Put some of this ketchup on it and cool it down. That’s all it took. I was hooked.

Let me stop here and give you some advice. I see a lot of people tryin’ to get ketchup out of a bottle. They’ll hold it upside down and hit the bottom of the bottle ‘til they’re blue in the face, and then they’ll grab a knife and stick it up in the bottle and try to drag some ketchup out. If I’m in a restaurant and see somebody doin’ this, I want to go over and slap them upside the back of their head. That ain’t the way you do it, pardon my grammar. All you have to do is tilt the bottle over at about a 45 degree angle above whatever it is you’re gonna put the ketchup on, and then, with your other hand, pat the underside of the bottle. Not the bottom, but the underside. You will be rewarded with a steady thick stream of ketchup, and your neighbors won’t have to be dodgin’ little flyin’ gobs of ketchup.

“Okay, where is all this talk of ketchup goin’?” you ask. Well, I’ll tell you.

Not long ago, my wife Janet and I went out to eat. Janet loves Italian food. I like it okay I guess, but it’s not one of my favorites. I’ll take barbeque ribs, or chicken fried steak over Italian food any old day, but like I said, it’s okay.

Anywho, I took her to this restaurant and we sat down. I scoured the menu, but I couldn’t find anything that floated my boat, so when the waitress came over, Janet ordered some kind of foo foo stuff, and I ordered the good ol’ standby.

“I’ll have the spaghetti,” I said.

“Very good, sir,” the young lady said, and she turned and left. Then Janet and I sat there and stared at each other. When you’ve been married as long as we have, there’s not a lot you haven’t talked about, so there’s no use wastin’ time havin’ small talk. I’ll usually look around and make comments about other people in the restaurants while Janet kicks me under the table.

Finally, the food arrived. The waitress set Janet’s in front of her and mine in front of me. Then she piled on the parmesan cheese, and asked, “Is there anything else?”

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, I caught, out of the corner of my eye, a look of horror on Janet’s face.

“You got any ketchup?” I asked.

Janet dropped her face into her hands and started shakin’ it side to side. The little waitress lady’s eyes opened up and looked at me like I had pooted or something.

“Ketchup?” she questioned.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I like it on my spaghetti.”

“Oh?” she said, and turned and left.

I looked up, and Janet was givin’ me one of “those looks”.

“What?” I said.

Before she could answer, a man walked up to the table. Cowering behind him was the little waitress.

“Good evening,” he said in a condescending tone. “I am the manager.”

“Good evening,” I said back to him. “I am the customer.”

He looked at me with a bored expression on his face. “Is there a problem?” he said.

“Problem?” I asked.

“Yes, do you have a problem?”

“Well, let’s see. I’m bald, nearsighted, half deaf, and I have to use the bathroom about 40 times a night, but besides that, I can’t think of one.”

His mouth pinched up. That’s a sure sign that there is no sense of humor present. “I mean,” he growled, “is there a problem with your meal?”

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “I haven’t eaten any of it, yet.”

“Didn’t you order ketchup?” he asked, but he pronounced it “Cat Soup”.

“No,” I said. “I’m havin’ the spaghetti. I had cat soup for lunch. Nearly choked to death on a hair ball, I might add.”

By this time, Janet has all but disappeared under the table. All you could see was the top of her head. The manager dude’s mouth was now pinched so tight, you couldn’t have driven a needle in it with a sledge hammer. The little waitress was coverin’ her mouth, tryin’ not to laugh.

“We,” he growled, “do not have ketchup.” This time he pronounced it like the Good Lord intended it to be pronounced.

“You don’t have ketchup?” I said. “In this fancy place? Heck Mister, even McDonalds has ketchup.” By now, his face was red as a beet, and I was afraid he was gonna either explode, or jump me. And if he did that, I’d have to whup him. Janet frowns on that, you know, so I put up my hands.

“Hey,” I said. “If you ain’t got it, you ain’t got it. It’s no big deal.”

He looked at me, turned, and stomped off. By this time, Janet is startin’ to reappear. The little waitress lady, moved closer to me, smiled, and in almost a whisper said, “Sorry about that. He’s a little touchy about ketchup.”

“No kiddin’,” I said sarcastically. “But don’t worry about it,” I added. “I just hope I didn’t get you in any trouble.”

“I don’t think so,” she smiled. “By the way,” she added, and winked at me, “my boyfriend likes ketchup on his spaghetti, too.”

Ahhhh, there’s hope for the world, yet.