An issue too hot to handle
G.D. Gearino, Staff Writer
Governments are often brought low by small events.
An office security guard in 1972 notices a piece of tape on a door, and an American president is eventually driven from office. A British cabinet member visiting a friend's country estate in 1961 spots a young woman named Christine Keeler skinny-dipping in the pool, and his party ends up losing control of Parliament.
These are real-world examples of chaos theory, which holds that a seemingly inconsequential circumstance can avalanche into a cataclysmic event.
With chaos theory in mind, perhaps you can appreciate the ramifications of this recent discovery: hot sauce that isn't marked "Texas Pete" at the General Assembly's cafeteria.
As you surely know, Texas Pete is North Carolina's answer to Tabasco sauce. It was created in Winston-Salem in 1929 and has been a fixture of Tar Heel life ever since. It sits on an uncountable number of restaurant tables, and little packets of Texas Pete are available at the cafeteria in the basement of the legislative building. That's appropriate, of course. If there's one institution that should automatically offer North Carolina products exclusively, it's the General Assembly.
But for the past several weeks, the unthinkable has been on display in the cafeteria: packets with the bland words "hot sauce" on the package, along with the name of an Ohio company.
Let me repeat this for emphasis: "Hot sauce" from Ohio is being served at the legislature.
Oh, packets of Texas Pete are there, too. Most of them, in fact, are Texas Pete. But how did this Northern off-brand end up mingling in the condiment bin with the real deal?
No one's quite sure. Steve Wiseman, the legislature's food service manager, says his supplier might have temporarily been out of Texas Pete and shipped the off-brand as a replacement. He understands how bad that looks. "In North Carolina, you have to have Texas Pete," he says. "I learned that a long time ago."
A spokeswoman for T.W. Garner Food Co., the maker of Texas Pete, agrees that it looks bad -- but says it may not be as bad as it looks. Garner Food ships Texas Pete in bulk to the Ohio company for condiment-bin packaging. The generic stuff is still probably the real thing, according to Veda Mabe (who says her title at Garner Food is "I've Just Been Here Forever").
Is it Texas Pete? Who knows? A pair of calls to the Ohio company were not returned. Cover-up? (And how many damning question marks can I use in one column?)
State government stands -- for now.
Ooops. Make that -- "for now?"
Governments are often brought low by small events.
An office security guard in 1972 notices a piece of tape on a door, and an American president is eventually driven from office. A British cabinet member visiting a friend's country estate in 1961 spots a young woman named Christine Keeler skinny-dipping in the pool, and his party ends up losing control of Parliament.
These are real-world examples of chaos theory, which holds that a seemingly inconsequential circumstance can avalanche into a cataclysmic event.
With chaos theory in mind, perhaps you can appreciate the ramifications of this recent discovery: hot sauce that isn't marked "Texas Pete" at the General Assembly's cafeteria.
As you surely know, Texas Pete is North Carolina's answer to Tabasco sauce. It was created in Winston-Salem in 1929 and has been a fixture of Tar Heel life ever since. It sits on an uncountable number of restaurant tables, and little packets of Texas Pete are available at the cafeteria in the basement of the legislative building. That's appropriate, of course. If there's one institution that should automatically offer North Carolina products exclusively, it's the General Assembly.
But for the past several weeks, the unthinkable has been on display in the cafeteria: packets with the bland words "hot sauce" on the package, along with the name of an Ohio company.
Let me repeat this for emphasis: "Hot sauce" from Ohio is being served at the legislature.
Oh, packets of Texas Pete are there, too. Most of them, in fact, are Texas Pete. But how did this Northern off-brand end up mingling in the condiment bin with the real deal?
No one's quite sure. Steve Wiseman, the legislature's food service manager, says his supplier might have temporarily been out of Texas Pete and shipped the off-brand as a replacement. He understands how bad that looks. "In North Carolina, you have to have Texas Pete," he says. "I learned that a long time ago."
A spokeswoman for T.W. Garner Food Co., the maker of Texas Pete, agrees that it looks bad -- but says it may not be as bad as it looks. Garner Food ships Texas Pete in bulk to the Ohio company for condiment-bin packaging. The generic stuff is still probably the real thing, according to Veda Mabe (who says her title at Garner Food is "I've Just Been Here Forever").
Is it Texas Pete? Who knows? A pair of calls to the Ohio company were not returned. Cover-up? (And how many damning question marks can I use in one column?)
State government stands -- for now.
Ooops. Make that -- "for now?"
1 Comments:
Hello, Pyroman and friends!
Sad to hear about that Texas Pete, and will be happy to send a few bottles of somethin' hot from Texas to keep your guv'ment from falling.
Anyway, I wanted to invite you and your folks to visit me and other food swapper people at http://gimmeyourstuff.blogspot.com
There has been a recent influx of knitting swappers, and I need reinforcements for food swap opportunities. Will happily send Texas tasty things in exchange for tasty things from other regions!
Have gotten some way cool things -- like a Calgary Stampede hat, Japanese candy and socks, and more -- from people grateful to put more spice in their lives.
Best,
Lori Witzel
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