Tales of the Midwest: Cocktail Sauce
You might be a Midwesterner if … You think that ketchup is a little too spicy, and that mustard is an ethnic food.
~Internet humor post
I love a good condiment story, don’t you? When was it… Oh, just a few years ago, I read about a West Virginia man who had driven off an embankment in the wintertime. His car went into a ravine of sorts and it took people a week to find him. But, he was alive and well. It turns out the man survived on ketchup packets from the floor of his car. I remember thinking, “Damn, how many ketchup packets did the guy have in there?” And, by the way, West Virginia gets a special exemption in my book. That is to say, I include them in my definition of Midwestern. They’re just a mountainous variety.
In any case, for this next “tale,” I’ll have to slightly bend the rules. This is something that happened to me well after leaving the Midwest. Having nearly escaped permanently, I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to realize that my old friends would be getting married sooner or later. As such, I’d have numerous somewhat obligatory opportunities to revisit my home town and “catch up.” (That’s meant a pun, and you’ll understand why in a bit.)
