Old-fashioned way is best, when it comes to condiments

TAMWORTH, N.H. -- Ketchup and mustard have been around for centuries, so no one remembers a time when they weren't part of the American tradition. Heinz, French's, and other manufacturers have made sure that these condiments go from the grocery store to your shelf at home. Historically, ketchup had nothing to do with tomatoes and mustard was much more pungent than we can imagine.

Virginia Taylor, who has known since childhood that she was born in the wrong era, hopes that some consumers will go back to the old way -- that is, simmer vegetables or fruits in a pot for ketchup, and stir strong yellow powder into vinegar to make real mustard. Taylor, a museum interpreter at the Remick Country Doctor Museum and Farm, leads workshops on old-fashioned ways to do things, including how to make condiments. "Why do we have to be satisfied with the status quo?" she asks the group gathered here. And with that, they start making cranberry and cucumber ketchup.

The first condiments were offshoots of the soy and fish sauces that 16th-century Europeans found in Southeast Asia, explains Taylor. They were just the thing to enliven bland British cuisine, so the sauces caught on there. In "Pure Ketchup: A History of America's National Condiment," Andrew F. Smith documents the "rise and demise" of homemade ketchup. Mushroom, fish, and walnut ketchups were popular, and these condiments proliferated and spread to America in the 18th century. But by 1940, recipes for the homemade version were disappearing. And since then, Heinz has cornered the market with its affordable tomato variety. The company's in-house magazine states that its product spared the home cook from "the miseries of scouring kettles . . . the primitive manner of fruit-picking, the boiling of jellies and the parboiling of his face and hands as he stirred, stirred and constantly stirred . . ."

That hazardous drudgery is nowhere at the workshop. Two pots of ketchup are simmering gently, requiring only an occasional stir. One contains frozen cranberries; the other chopped cucumbers and green bell peppers. When the fruit and vegetables have softened, they are passed through a food mill and returned to the stove to bubble down to a viscous, sticky consistency. Vinegar, sugar, and spices are mixed in along the way.

In the meantime, the group works on basic yellow ballpark and Dijon mustards. These begin with mustard powder, sugar, vinegar, and water stirred into pastes. The results are intense, opening the sinuses, drawing tears, even leaving us panting. Taylor reminds us that some commercial mustards use very little powder, so taste buds are unaccustomed to the strong, spicy sensation of real mustard. Commercial brands are often loaded with turmeric, which makes the color a brighter yellow.

As the mustard is exposed to air, the heat dissipates, so Taylor recommends making it in small batches if you want intensity from the condiment. Paired with a cucumber slice or cracker, the complex flavors and kick are enjoyable, and one can imagine roast beef sandwiches, grilled sausages, and hamburgers shining with a parsimonious layer.

By this time the ketchups are sufficiently thickened. The cranberry is dark, sweet, and vinegary, ideal for turkey or chicken, or as a glaze for pork loin. Tangy and light, with a grassy color, the cucumber version might go with ham or hot dogs. Taylor tells us that her daughter eats it with a fried egg on toast.

Taylor's enthusiasm is contagious. She, too, lives on a farm, which has few modern conveniences, and has decided that the old way of doing things is preferable to the new. These condiments are an example. "There is something out there that used to be so much better, but was lost for the sake of speed and convenience.

"I'm on a crusade to stop losing things."

Virginia Taylor will run workshops on jams and conserves on Aug. 11 and relishes on Sept. 8. For more information, go to remickmuseum.org.