Their new gag reflex is called “French’s Ketchup Cotton Candy.” It’s like an unholy alliance between the makers of stairlifts and bungee cords. French’s, the sauce behemoth, has teamed up with Treats for Us, a Canadian confectionary.
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The press release would leave even an extreme eating champ feeling queasy. More proof of the empty-calorie apocalypse arrived this week. Now food companies hire mad scientists who can devise ways to stir gummy worms into a Bouillabaisse. Outside of a prison commissary run by sadists, there was no “Tuna Salad Fruit Punch.” The foodstuff taxonomy back then had oven walls to prevent hybrid abominations such as “Krispy Kreme’s Pulled Pork Sandwich” or “Smoked Salmon Ice Cream.” You never spotted a kid at the CNE sipping a “Mac & Cheese Pickle Soda.” Remember when ketchup was squirted on hot dogs and not molecularly engineered in a gustatory lab to flavour carnival treats? I miss those days. Summer is officially here and so is the war on our taste buds.