King of Condiments

When I was 13 years old, I had a summer job serving food in the University of Prince Edward Island cafeteria. In running down my list of tasks, the manager unwittingly introduced me to a new word: “condiments.”

It sounded like medicine. And in this case, it was. Metallic pans housed piles of mass-produced darkened reds, blinding yellows and dazzling greens – all acting as a culinary decoy to distract the students from their bland and oversalted meals. Strict instructions were given to keep them full at all times.

The buckets of goo stood in stark contrast to the condimental bliss I was enjoying down the road at the family cottage. In my off-hours, I draped grated tangy horseradish on the freshest raw oysters, dragged my perfectly grilled lamb into chunky pools of homemade green tomato chutney and swung my lightly breaded clams into aioli spiked with fresh herbs. Life was sweet, spicy, salty and creamy.

When Roger Waters sang, “What shall we use to fill the empty spaces?” on Pink Floyd’s legendary album The Wall, could he have been thinking of where to put his condiments? The U.S. specialty condiment industry grossed US$3.7-billion in 2006, and, in 2008, China peaked close to US$15-billion. Was it conspiracy or simply supply meeting demand when GE started making fridges the size of closets?

Some would opine that they’re for storing beer, but I disagree. Six-packs are transient by nature. Condiments, on the other hand, are the houseguests that never leave. And why would you ever kick them out? They magically never seem to expire, and you never know when you’re going to want to pull out that half-used bottle of bagoong (Filipino anchovy or shrimp paste) or finish the banana jam. They all have potential.

Condiments are at the root of every great meal, but they rarely get their due. They’re like the teacher encouraging you to study just a bit harder, the girlfriend telling you to act your age.

The success of a condiment is gauged on how well it becomes the yin to the meal’s yang. Who can eat falafel without tahini? Why would you bother making gyoza or har gow unless it meant liberally dipping them in chili paste and soy sauce? Ordering pakoras? Pass the mint-and-coriander yogurt.

Condiments are at the root of every great meal, but they rarely get their due. They’re like that guy spotting you as you bench-press at the gym, the teacher encouraging you to study just a bit harder, the girlfriend telling you to act your age. Condiments just want you to be a better person, to explore the spice rack more thoroughly, to be creative and dare to dream of a tastier meal. And they don’t ask for anything in return except for a little brand recognition.

We need to foster a culture of respect for our chutneys and mustards. On a recent trip to Buenos Aires, I saw the condiment table even before I was besieged by meat smoke streaming from one of the many lunch stands dotting Costanera Sur. Everything from chimichurri to every possible combination of mayonnaise (chili, olives, red peppers, herbs and ketchup sauce) beckoned me to order a choripán right away. 

Closer to home, I’ve been devouring homemade mustard on house-smoked-meat sandwiches at Caplansky’s. When Zane Caplansky started his Jewish deli in Toronto a year ago, he was motivated to make everything himself. His mustard – a combination of yellow and brown mustard seeds and Chimay beer (for its floral aroma), with leeks and garlic (for sweetness and tang) – customizes the eating experience but also hearkens back to a time before fast food’s meteoric rise in the 1950s, when people were forced to make condiments fresh.

After making your own ketchup, you quickly realize that all the chemical ingredients in store-bought varieties are largely unnecessary. Whisk your own mayo, and you might not have to go to the gym as often. I recommend throwing in fresh wasabi. Making barbecue sauce with my pals from Food Jammers, Micah and Chris, taught me that a few finely chopped-up dried apricots were crucial. Chris wants to invent some condiment pods that time-release into your meal like vitamins. Micah fantasizes about making maple cheese strips to throw on burgers. 

As for that age-old problem of condiments taking up too much space in the fridge, I offer up my unpatented, untested and, thus far, unrealized blueprint for the world’s first Multi-Condiment Pen. Resting in its pocket protector affixed to the refrigerator’s door, the pen will dispense your choice of 16 condiments. Refills will come with easy-to-insert instructions. It will conserve energy and act as a daily reminder of the diversity of flavour – and, of course, make more room for beer. 

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