By Timothy T. Tater
Fellow Americans, we stand at a crossroads. On one side lies truth, tradition, and the noble condiment known as catsup. On the other lurks the corrupted, corporatized imposter called “ketchup”—a linguistic abomination that has wormed its way into our grocery stores, our restaurants, and sadly, our hearts.
Let me be clear: if you call it ketchup, you have been duped by Big Condiment.
First, let’s examine the historical evidence. Catsup derives from the Chinese “kê-tsiap,” a fermented fish sauce that bears absolutely no resemblance to our beloved tomato condiment, but that’s beside the point. What matters is that when this word traveled through Malaysian “kichap” and into English, it became “catsup”—a name that sounds dignified, established, like something your grandmother would approve of. “Ketchup,” meanwhile, sounds like what happens when you sneeze while eating.
The “ketchup” crowd will tell you their spelling is more common, more accepted. This is exactly the kind of groupthink that leads to flavored coffee creamers and pineapple on pizza. Just because everyone’s doing it doesn’t make it right. Our founding fathers didn’t fight the British so we could surrender our condiment nomenclature to the whims of focus groups and marketing departments.
Consider the phonetics. “Catsup” rolls off the tongue with the gentle dignity of a cat purring on a Sunday afternoon. “Ketchup,” on the other hand, sounds like someone choking on disappointment. When you ask for catsup, you sound refined, traditional—someone who appreciates the finer things in life. When you ask for ketchup, you sound like you’re about to put it on a hot dog like some kind of barbarian.
The bottle evidence is irrefutable. Hunt’s—the aristocrat of tomato-based condiments—proudly declares “Catsup” on its label. This is a company with standards, with heritage, with respect for linguistic integrity. Meanwhile, that red pretender Heinz slaps “Ketchup” across its bottles like graffiti on a subway car. And don’t get me started on their upside-down bottles—as if their spelling wasn’t disorienting enough.
Some ketchup apologists argue that their version is somehow more “modern” or “evolved.” This is like saying “YOLO” is an improvement over “Carpe Diem.” Progress isn’t always progress, people. Sometimes it’s just change for change’s sake, driven by corporate marketing teams who think focus-grouped linguistics trump centuries of tradition.
The international community supports catsup superiority. In Britain—the birthplace of proper English, lest we forget—many still use “catsup.” Are we really going to let ourselves become less refined than the people who gave us Spotted Dick and Bangers and Mash?
Let’s also address the elephant in the room: catsup people are simply more trustworthy. We’re the ones who still use “whom” correctly and know the difference between “further” and “farther.” We’re not swayed by flashy advertising campaigns or peer pressure. When we commit to catsup, we’re committing to principles.
The ketchup conspiracy has infiltrated our restaurants, where waiters look at you like you’ve grown a second head when you ask for catsup. This is linguistic discrimination of the highest order. I shouldn’t have to translate my condiment preferences like I’m ordering at a French bistro.
In conclusion, every time you say “ketchup,” a little bit of American linguistic heritage dies. Every “ketchup” is a surrender to corporate homogenization, a betrayal of our grandparents’ kitchen tables, a victory for the forces that want to flatten our beautiful language into market-tested mediocrity.
So I implore you: stand with catsup. Stand with tradition. Stand with dignity. Stand with the knowledge that you’re right and they’re wrong, even if—especially if—you’re outnumbered.
The revolution starts with one bottle at a time.
As of note, I am currently banned from three local restaurants for “condiment-related outbursts”. I have founded the of Citizens Against Ketchup Tyranny (CAKT) to stand against the red-sauced marketing czars.