It was tough growing up in Australia and not liking tomato sauce. Drenching foods with sub-par nutritional value in liquid tomato is expected of you.
"What? Everyone likes sauce," I'd hear from a confused parent at every school sausage sizzle.
Firstly, obviously not everyone does and secondly, what were they expecting me to say? "Oh, sauce? Sorry, I thought you said arsenic. Sure, by all means load 'er up!"
Worse was when the sausage sizzler would slop it on without asking and I'd have to request another, sans condiment. I remember very vividly the rolling of the eyes and the annoyed sigh, which said, "You're just being difficult. Think your special or something? Just have sauce and stop whinging."
It was an early introduction to the Aussie attitude of anything is outside the norm, is a threat. As though by refusing sugary tomato syrup, I'd broken some unspoken pact. Was it really beyond people's wits to imagine that someone might not enjoy something they ate? I never understood the outrage. I wasn't making a stand; it wasn't a political action. Or, if it was, it'd be a pretty crappy one. "No sauce for me! Take that, the man."
I think it was part of Gandhi's form of nonviolent protest: make salt, wear homespun clothes and don't have sauce on your snag.
It's clearly caused me some grief over the years, so to work through the pain, I'm basing my 2015 Melbourne International Comedy Festival show on the turmoils of not eating sauce in a sauce-world. It's about a small boy who declines sauce and it causes WW3. It's not autobiographical, at this stage the show features Vladimir Putin and we've not yet met. He keeps ringing, but our schedules don't ever seem to match.
Anyway, if there are others out there who prefer their pie sauce-free, please share your stories and we can heal together.