Kranch: The Final Frontier
When Henry John Heinz founded the Heinz Company in 1869, it was nothing more than a humble passion project. Working out of his parents’ basement in rural Pennsylvania to manufacture horseradish from his mother’s family recipe, he knew he could turn his sauces into a profitable business, but above all else, he was driven by his unbreakable love for condiments. To Heinz, the potential for wealth and fame in the sauce industry was merely an additional perk. He could have never anticipated that his obscure local business—his makeshift factory of flavors—would become a multi-billion dollar corporate powerhouse and a staple of supermarkets across the nation.
It is now 2019, exactly 150 years after Henry Heinz produced his first batch of sauces, and the company is as relevant as ever. But as with all things in the year 2019, the company decided to ruin everything their honorable founder stood for when a couple of idiots from marketing realized they could just combine two of their sauces, give it a ridiculous name, and with enough obnoxious social media advertising, plenty of foolish American consumers would actually buy it.
This is roughly what went through my cynical mind on the night of July 20th when I first saw the Instagram ads for Kranch, a Heinz production combining ketchup and ranch into a single sauce. However, my cynicism quickly faded into sheer disappointment after I remembered one very unfortunate detail: I am the foolish American consumer. I knew I needed to get my hands on such an absurd and unnecessary product, no matter the cost.
After doing some quick research, I learned that Kranch is a member of Heinz’s new and fittingly poorly-named “Saucy Sauce” family of products. Launched in 2018 and receiving continued support ever since, the Saucy Sauce line also includes such hits as Mayochup, Mayomust, and Mayocue, all of which are, in fact, exactly what they sound like. But something about Kranch intrigued me the most. Not only was it the only sauce of the bunch with a ranch base rather than the typical mayonnaise, but it was easily the one I saw the least amount of people talking about online. It was mysterious. Elusive. But at the end of the day, it’s still just a Heinz brand condiment. I could just pick up a bottle at any major grocery chain, right?
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Over the course of the next 44 days, I visited 12 different grocery and retail establishments scattered throughout the Atlanta area: four Publix locations, three Krogers, three Targets, and two international farmers markets on Buford Highway. Every single store sold Mayochup. Seven locations carried Mayocue and five had Mayomust in stock. I could not find even a trace of Kranch.
Any reasonable person would have given up after the first couple of tries, and any smart person wouldn’t have looked for Kranch in the first place, but each failure only made me want it even more. It turned every visit to the grocery store into a thrilling game of chance and every weekend outing into a visit to the grocery store. I had not felt this excited to waste my time since my days of collecting trading cards in elementary school. Perhaps my enthusiasm and determination for Kranch were a bit unwarranted, but again, at the end of the day, it’s still just a Heinz brand condiment. It seemed completely harmless.
Unfortunately for me, however, by the time I opened my eyes and began to understand the dark side of my pursuit of Kranch, I was already far beyond the point of no return. I will never forget the moment when it hit me. It could not have been any earlier than 10:30 in the evening when it happened; after an enjoyable night out with a group of friends, I saw a sign for Kroger in the distance on the ride home and insisted that we pull over to look for Kranch. Confused but ultimately indifferent, my friends agreed to make a quick five-minute stop, and, much to my dismay, Kranch was nowhere to be found.
Except I didn’t stop there. Something about that Kroger seemed different to me, and I refused to give up that easily. Without telling my friends, I rushed out of the condiment aisle and located the nearest employee, and what followed was one of the most awkward interactions I have ever had. There I was, standing in the middle of an empty grocery store minutes before closing, explaining what Kranch was to a couple of exhausted employees while my friends looked on in what can only be described as a mix of confusion, frustration, and embarrassment. In that precise moment, I had officially lost my mind.
My journey would finally come to an end on September 2nd when, hidden in a forgotten corner of a suburban Walmart, I arrived at the promised land. It only took a month and a half of hard effort, but I was officially a proud owner of 19 whole ounces of Heinz Kranch. However, for some reason, I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed and even slightly bitter. Sure, the prophecy had been fulfilled, but at what cost? The Heinz Company may tell you it’s an affordable $2.98, but they don’t want you to know about what lies beneath the price tag. Kranch is heartless. It shows no mercy. It steals your time, consumes your thoughts, and tarnishes your reputation. But perhaps worst of all, Kranch makes anything taste much, much worse.
By Jaden Ellman