Throwbacvk Thjursday What kind of Ketclkup do you prefer?

Today I happen to remember back in my Navy days our division petty officer's, or office manager's, wife, Lucy O invited us to dinner.  She conveniently invited us on a night that her husband would be on duty, so he would not be there.  This was all planned out in a bar in downtown Lakehurst, New Jersey, almost most next door to Lucy's and her husband's house.  In the bar Don bragged to Lucy what good spaghetti sauce he knew how to make.  Lucy challenged him and told us to come over, and she picked the night. 

First, let me fill you in about Lucy:  She looked something like a human bull, you are not sure if she is all muscle or what... and you might wonder what sex she is.  She called us by our last names, military style.  And she was out to have a good time, live life to the fullest, which required a lot of drinking.   I remember once on New Years Eve she, and a bunch of her husband's underlings entered a bar.  The bar tender instantly told her to get out because she always caused a fight or did damage.  A bunch of us vouched for her and said we didn't believe all they claimed and we would vouch for her.  We didn't know her well then.  She picked up a ball off the pool table and said, "That is no way to treat a fucking lady!" and threw the pool ball at the window crashing it.   We left rather quickly. 

Her husband, which I will call O. was very meek and polite.  

The evening of the dinner, we went by a grocery store and bought ever thing Don would need to cook spaghetti sauce, plus wine and beer.  We bought enough for about four people.

What we didn't realize, Lucy forgot to mention it is that she invited some of her drinking friends.  A big old thug of a man, his weathered wife, and a younger single woman.  They arrived drunk.  Don almost panicked.    He did what he could, made smaller servings and handed them out himself. 

The big drunk lug of a man was proud of his loud belches and his wife and lady friend thought it was funny.  Don gritted his teeth.

Then the big lug asked for some ketchup.  Don hit the roof.  He told me privately (I think) nobody asks for ketchup - it was the worse insult one could possibly do to the chef.  I don't remember if he just told us that behind the lug's back or he gave the lug a piece of his mind.    I suspect he ranted to us in private, he wasn't dumb.  (he later became a professor at Northwestern.

Asking for ketchup reminds me of another ketchup adventure:   One time not long after we were married somehow we came upon a coupon to buy a meal and get one free at an Italian restaurant on Cheshire Bridge Road in Atlanta.  The owner/chef, when he learned he was cooking a meal for a buy and and get one free coupon  he made all kinds of sarcastic remarks.  When we were eating he dropped by the table and asked how did we enjoy the meal.  We told him it was very good....he added a little insult by asking, "Do you need any ketchup?" 

(this was copied and pasted and modified from my previous post on my blog chicken-fat.com)