While visiting Puerto Rico recently to immerse myself in the 144 year history of the island’s oldest rum producer, Ron del Barrilito, I couldn’t help but take notice of several prominent aspects of the local food scene. There are the topics you probably know all about–the tostones, the mofongo, the arroz con gandules or the mini empanadillas. But the great, omnipresent connector potentially involved in all of those foods? The thing that “goes with everything” when served those dishes? That would be “MayoKetchup,” and rarely have I ever seen a place where a single condiment takes on such monolithic cultural proportions as it does here.
MayoKetchup, which seems to be habitually referred to as a single word in Puerto Rico, is precisely what it sounds like: A combination of mayonnaise and ketchup, plus garlic, that is found and enjoyed widely throughout the island on an eclectic array of dishes. And when I say “widely enjoyed,” I mean that Boricuas by and large are very fond of MayoKetchup, and will evangelize on its uses if given the chance. The stuff is used liberally, and it’s used everywhere–not just on the expected fried foods, or as a sandwich spread, but on rice, mofongo, even fresh seafood. Along with the local hot sauce known as pique, MayoKetchup has a versatility that makes diners turn to it in practically every situation.
Nor is MayoKetchup confined to only certain types of establishment. In the span of just a couple days on the island, I had MayoKetchup in seemingly every style of restaurant or eatery imaginable. It’s in the bars, in the brewpubs, the humble streetside cafes and even in the fine dining establishments. As a general rule of thumb: If they serve tostones, then they almost certainly pair it with some upscaled form of MayoKetchup, even if it’s a place with a Michelin star. The pink sauce is a symbol of national pride. Boricuas identify with it to such an extent that when Heinz tried to jump on board the mayo + ketchup trend with the 2018 release of their packaged “MayoChup,” they faced grumblings about cultural appropriation from angry Puerto Ricans.
But of course, MayoKetchup is hardly a unique phenomenon around the globe–what’s most unique is Puerto Rico’s passion for it. In the U.S., we have long generically referred to a similar mayo and ketchup combination as simply “fry sauce,” though there are some slight variations–our versions in the U.S. often contain other seasonings, or the addition of pickle juice for flavor and acidity. It’s unknown where this style of condiment combination first truly originated–the MayoKetchup page of the San Juan city directory (yes, it has its own page)–suggests that the combination originates in the U.S., but MayoKetchup is also quite similar to Argentina’s salsa golf or “golf sauce,” which according to legend was invented in the 1920s as a mayo and ketchup-based combination for shrimp by physician and biochemist Luis Leloir … a future Nobel Prize in Chemistry winner! And then there’s the obvious corollary to something like Yum Yum Sauce, commonly served in Japanese steakhouses, which is another tangy combination of mayo, ketchup and seasonings. It seems likely this is one of those cases where many different cultures have hit upon the same combination over time and made it their own.
In Puerto Rico, though, where MayoKetchup is king, simplicity tends to reign supreme. Most of the classic recipes for MayoKetchup call for simply combining mayo and ketchup at a 2:1 ratio, with the addition of grated or microplaned garlic as the primary extra flavoring. This is something you can obviously whip up quickly in the home kitchen, and garlic powder makes an acceptable substitute if there’s no fresh garlic on hand. Variants of MayoKetchup also include ingredients such as onion, lemon juice and lemon zest, along with spice mixes such as adobo seasoning. If you’re making a batch at home, it might be best to make a standard MayoKetchu with garlic and then separate it into several containers to experiment with additional flavorings.
At the very least, making a batch of MayoKetchup is an excuse to have tostones or empanadas, and that’s never really a bad thing.
Jim Vorel is a Paste staff writer and resident beer and liquor geek. You can follow him on Twitter for more drink writing.