Don’t Knock the Ketchup

Don’t Knock the Ketchup

This last weekend, my nine-year-old decided he wanted pizza for lunch, so he toasted some bread, got out some cheese, and grabbed the ketchup bottle. *GASP!!!*

Now, I don’t mind a little ketchup on fries, but I’m far from someone who can lick it off their fingers—I just don’t like it that much. My son, on the other hand, loves it, but, still, I wasn’t sure how ketchup on toast would go over.

I had him put some ketchup in a bowl and added some thyme, oregano, and basil. He suggested garlic powder, and I tacked on some onion powder. He mixed and tasted. “Pretty good,” he said, thoughtfully nodding his head. But what he did next amazed me.

He seemed happy with his sauce, and I left him to construct the pizza to his heart’s content. Then he asked me what spices I used and where they were. He wanted “just a little more,” as well as pepper, in the sauce. I was impressed how he wanted to play with the ingredient amounts to make his pizza perfect.

In the end, he had a lunch catered to his liking. I’m not sure if he’s going to take a further interest in cooking or not, but it will be fun to watch and find out. Regardless, he’s given me an interesting parallel to draw from.

Don’t Knock the Ketchup

My nine-year-old took ketchup and turned it into pizza sauce by mixing in a few simple spices. We as writers can do the same. We may start out with a story or scene more akin to ketchup when what we really want is pizza sauce. By playing around and making a few changes, we might end up with exactly what we want. So, don’t knock on the “ketchup” story because without it, the “pizza” narrative may never exist.

Now go and make your awesome sauce. I know you can do it!

‘Til next time!

Amélie

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