The Epic Battle: Ketchup vs. Mustard

I grew up on Long Island, NY, with a very specific food culture. Were I grew up, there were delis specializing in home cured deli meats, sausages, and salads, frying up egg sandwiches from the grill. Bakeries specializing in things like bowties, challah, and real crusty Italian bread. I grew up and even worked in bagel stored serving big, glossy, chewy, hot bagels, and pizza parlors serving pies with thin, crisp, yet chewy crust, oozing with cheese. (If you're not hungry yet, you will be).

I grew up where mustard is served on Nathan's Hotdogs and ketchup is served on All-American Hamburgers and French Fries. We drank soda in cans. All was orderly in the world.

When my family traveled outside the tri-state metro area, we were greeted by the oddities of different American food culture. We visited places where pop was sipped from a tin. We found subs instead of heros. But worst of all was the first bite of a burger from a fast food stop. The surprising addition of mustard to our burgers was the most horrifying thing we could think of.

We quickly adapted and learned to order our burgers without mustard in out thick Lawn-guyland accents. Ketchup is sweet and salty, a glorious addition to a fatty burger to create the holy trinity of food addiction. You can add cheese. You can add lettuce or tomato. But really, it has to be ketchup.

Fortunately, hotdogs were more of a self-serve food item. Mustard for hotdogs is about spice and acid. The salty more sweet versions take to a brown spicy mustard that cuts the fat with a sharp tangy boost. Adding the sweet of ketchup just makes it taste like a lollipop on a bun.

Is what they say true? You can't teach an old dog new tricks? Would the foods of my childhood always remain my favorites? Or can we learn to appreciate the flavors that once repelled us?

Now that I have reached a time in my life when I have lived Upstate as many years as I have lived in Massapequa, I have eaten plenty of different kinds of burgers and dogs. I've taken the time to try burgers with mustard, pickles, even blue cheese. I've tried my dogs with a combo of mustard and ketchup. I get it now. A sharp, spicy mustard cuts the fat as a tart pickle would. It adds a layer of flavor beyond the trinity. I might even say it elevates it.

But I won't. While I can appreciate mustard on my burger, I don't want it there. Give me sloppy, sweet and salty ketchup. Heck, I'd even prefer barbecue sauce to mustard. While I won't turn down a burger with mustard, I'm not really interested in switching.

Ketchup for burgers. Mustard for hot dogs. Hands down.

Letters to Grandma and Grandpa

My grandmother passed away in March. At 101 she left behind quite a legacy--and a lot of stuff. My parents have spent several days wading through personal items like photos, gifts, greeting cards, and paperwork dating back as early as 1960! Some of the more interesting items include stacks of letters from family members that were dated and stashed.

The earliest of my notes.
I clearly needed a penmanship lesson.

My grandparents were snow birds and traveled to Florida every fall and winter. I never saw them for the holidays, or for my birthday, which is in January. So I wrote them during those months. She saved several letters I wrote her as a child. I don't know if this is all of them. And reading through them is more than amusing.

The funny thing is, I don't remember any of the letter writing, or any responses. Oddly, I do recall the stationary.

Yes, I wished my Jewish grandparents
Merry Christmas!

From reading them, I often had a cold or cough when I wrote. I shared the weather and some other activity going on at the time.

I wrote about my birthday party at Farrels, a restaurant chain that no longer exists on the east coast, mostly taken over by Friendly's. And it seems I was often headed to a New York Arrows game.

It is strange to have this glimpse into my childhood. As I get older, there seems to be so many gaps in my memory. Minor occurrences have disappeared from history, and only the selected few remain. I recall some of the things I wrote about. I remember the birthday party and the soccer games. But the letter writing? Not a chance.

It seems letter writing is a long lost art. I stopped sending paper letters in the early 1990s when I discovered e-mail. I may have sent some postcards up through the early 2000s. Facebook and texting and emailing photos have replaced that. Heck, I blogged my second honeymoon! I love the instant gratification of it all. Not having to wait for a postcard two weeks after your relative has returned from their trip is really nice.

Even as electronic communication allows us to save more of our past in less space, we save less. I do not have the emails from my ex boyfriend that we sent each other in college. I met my husband in an online chat room, and none of those correspondences are saved. I do not save store-bought greeting cards. It is all gone.

Cursive circa 1984! And what is that doodle?

Here is a relic from the 1980s. Here is my handwriting. Here are my thoughts. This is part of who I was or how I wanted my grandparents to see me. Here are the doodles. Here is the stationary I liked.

Yet, who this person was who wrote it? I think I know as much about her as you do. Most of what she did, how she spent her days, what she hoped, is gone from my memory, save some photos from parties, vacations, and family events.

I'm only 39. How little will be left at 60 or 80? Does it matter? I'm a different person now. These things shaped me, but they may be gone.

Now that I have fully depressed myself...I think, if I ever have children, I will try to create and save these items. It was very interesting to see. And someday, it will be all we have of that time... except what was posted to facebook and twitter. They keep everything.

On women's health and privilege.

I just read Angelina Jolie's OpEd in the New York Times about her decision to have a preventive double mastectomy after testing positive for the breast cancer gene BRCA1. She titles it "My Medical Choice." It is an amazing and wonderful thing that she has knowledge about her health risks and options to deal with them. Without a cure for cancer, this is the next best thing for taking control of one's own health care and future.

I have loved Angeline Jolie as an actor ever since her performance in my favorite coming of age film, Foxfire, based on the Joyce Carol Oates novel of the same name. I love her work for the United Nations and all she has done for refugees around the world. And I love her now for raising awareness of the options for women looking to prevent breast and ovarian cancers.

What her piece highlights for me is the very different worlds she and I live in. As a woman of privilege, she is able to make a fully informed decision about her health care. She can access state of the art genetic testing to better understand her risks. Then, with this knowledge, she can choose from several options for prevention and screening.

Breast cancer alone kills some 458,000 people each year, according to the World Health Organization, mainly in low- and middle-income countries. It has got to be a priority to ensure that more women can access gene testing and lifesaving preventive treatment, whatever their means and background, wherever they live. The cost of testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2, at more than $3,000 in the United States, remains an obstacle for many women.

For me, as I also consider myself a woman of privilege, I could probably afford the $3,000 for the genetic test, which would be a hardship, but not completely out of reach. Then, if I tested positive, I could consider some of the options, but first I would have to see what my health insurance company covers. I will never have access to the best surgeons in the country as Jolie did, nor will I be able to receive care at the Pink Lotus Breast Center or any place like it. But I might be able to get a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery with my limited health insurance, again, at some significant cost. I could probably scrounge up the funds or take out a loan.

For millions of other women in the United States, none of these options are available. They do not have health insurance, nor do they have access to the thousands of dollars for just the genetic screening.  They likely will not even receive a breast cancer screening. For them, they wait until something goes seriously wrong. They find the lump, if they are lucky; but then what? Without health insurance, how does she even seek treatment? 

I don't need to take this to its conclusion. You get the picture.

Angelina Jolie is brave. She is an important voice in the fight for women's health. I hope she can speak louder on behalf of the millions of women for which these options are out of reach. The advances in breast cancer prevention and treatment are truly remarkable. We should ensure that all women can access them.

This is why I support the Affordable Care Act. It is one step closer to ensuring that all women have access to the screening, prevention, and treatment afforded to Angelina Jolie. It is the moral and right thing to do for all Americans.