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We'll get to the shocking truth about American hot sauce consumption in a moment, but first, I want to remind you that Burger King once had a character in their commercials called the Duke of Doubt.
Someone would make an assertion about Burger King, and he would say, predictably, "I doubt it!" But in the end, he would believe. It was an ongoing parable of a man in a crisis of faith, at least in regards to circular meat divots.
It was a short-lived and unsuccessful ad campaign, but to this day I channel the Duke whenever I get a press release about a new survey. "Malarkey!" I cry, and if I'm working at home, my wife sighs and thinks she is married to a man whose job consists of audible scoffing.
Yes, I know, surveys are an exact science, and I'm an idiot. But I get so many of these state-by-state competitions, and there's something hinky about all of them.
The latest one ranks the states for the amount of hot sauce they order.
Number one? It's North Dakota. NoDakians use almost three times more hot sauce than folks in Louisiana.
Oh, sure. You betcha.
Now. I am a proud son of North Dakota, and I remember well the absence of spice in the daily menu. Oh, there were radishes — Satan's Crabapples — and there was Heinz 57, which I always regarded as Lutheran Tabasco. I think my mom had a container of chili pepper, but on the rare times she used it, she'd put on a welder's helmet and a lead vest like the dental techs when you get an X-ray, and then she'd pick out a single grain with a tweezer. Two grains and you'd send Grandpa to his reward.
Eventually we got a taco restaurant, and the salsa was like ... enthusiastic ketchup. When taco-flavored Doritos hit the state, the explosion of flavors was so lurid it felt sinful.
Late in life, my father came around to hot sauce, partly because a lifetime of working around gasoline had paved his palate, and a jalapeño was the only thing that could get through. It was like holding a firecracker a few inches from the ear of someone who'd lost most of their hearing.
Some commenters on Reddit said it might be oil-field workers that skew the sample. You know, rough and tough men who work hard, play hard and pour habañero sauce on their Wheaties to clear away the cobwebs. Or it's Fargo hipsters. Or it's the shifting demographics of the state, which has brought good, bright food that makes you sweat.
I don't know. I just don't see people in a small town of 328 people meeting at the town hall to draw lots to see who drives two hours to Bismarck because they're all hooked on the stuff and no one's been around lately to resupply them. People all ornery and twitchy, using fast-food packets of pepper like chaw plugs.
How did they discern this startling fact? It's based on orders from Instacart, the grocery delivery service. This seems a rather rarefied parameter. I would expect that people in Louisiana get their hot sauce from a public fountain, so they don't need to get it from Instacart. Or it rains from the sky and they collect it in barrels. And I don't think Instacart is racing around the network of tiny hamlets hanging off a two-lane road. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong.
But I doubt it.
