Last week, while writing about the different kinds of mustard residing in our refrigerator, I thought of something while finishing the column.
I think of my mother as a really smart person in almost every thing she did – but there was one thing. She didn’t like mustard. The particular time I was thinking about happened on one of our trips to Heid’s when I was a kid.
Like the rest of us, my mother loved Heid’s hotdogs but she didn’t like mustard. I was remembering the time when she sent a couple of Heid’s employees on a quick mission looking for a bottle of ketchup. Back then, Heid’s didn’t feature French fries, so there was not a need for ketchup to slather on them, and anything but mustard on a Heid’s hotdog was unheard of.
And, while I was remembering, I thought about the wooden paddles that were used to spread that delicious spicy mustard from the full crocks at Heid’s on to our hotdogs.
Anyone else want to go to Heid’s?