‘Saucy’ Youngsters Spice Up Their Lives

For years, tomato ketchup reigned unchallenged. It was the red glue binding every Indian meal together — from samosas to Maggi, from cutlets to canteen sandwiches. But lately, that plastic bottle has started gathering dust in the fridge door, nudged aside by sleeker, spicier newcomers.

Meet the new squad: Korean gochujang, Thai sriracha, Japanese kewpie mayo, Mexican chipotle, and even the viral hot honey that’s making everything from pizza to paneer sizzle online. The condiment aisle has gone cosmopolitan, and young Indians are drizzling their way through a global flavour renaissance.

Ketchup’s Midlife Crisis

There was a time when ketchup was the universal answer to blandness. It went with everything — fries, rolls, even biryani (don’t judge). But the problem with being everywhere is that you eventually feel like nowhere. “Honestly, ketchup feels... basic now,” shrugs Simran Gill, 35, a homecook from Delhi. “It’s like wearing skinny jeans in 2025 — functional, but out of vibe. Everyone wants something

with personality.”

And personality is exactly what the new sauces promise. Sriracha with its cult rooster bottle, tangy kimchi mayo with its Instagrammable label, or honey infused with chilli flakes that gives your toast an influencer glow — these are not just condiments; they’re conversation starters.

“Even my mom has started buying gochujang,” laughs Simran. “She calls it ‘that Korean lal paste.’ I caught her adding it to rajma once. Honestly? It slapped.”

Global Palates, Local Plates

The rise of global sauces isn’t just about trends — it’s about access. Supermarkets now have entire “world cuisine” aisles, and e-commerce platforms deliver imported condiments to even smaller cities.

“Earlier, we had to ask friends abroad to bring back bottles of sriracha,” recalls Rohit Shetty, a home chef from Pune. “Now it’s right next to the peanut butter.”

Food influencers, too, are driving the sauce swap. Reels featuring 10-second recipes — “ramen with gochujang,” “parathas with chilli oil,” “cheese toast with truffle mayo” — have made experimentation mainstream.

It’s not unusual now to see samosas dipped in wasabi mayo, or pakoras getting a side of Chipotle aioli. Rohit says, “The Indian palate has always loved spice and drama — these sauces just offer new ways to express it.”

Sauce as Self-Expression

Scroll through Gen Z’s kitchen tours on Instagram, and you’ll notice a pattern: fridge doors lined like fashion runways — jars of chilli oil, bottles of aioli, artisanal relishes, vegan dips. Sauce aesthetics are a thing.

“I curate my fridge,” says Ayesha Khan, 25, a design student from Bengaluru. “Each bottle says something about me. Truffle mayo says I’m bougie. Gochujang says I watch K-dramas. Pesto says I brunch.”

It’s food meets identity politics. The sauces you use have become shorthand for your cultural curiosity — or at least your willingness to pay ?600 for imported umami.

This is called “culinary signaling.” Food has always been a cultural marker, but with social media, even condiments become expressions of personality. They’re small, visible luxuries — accessible, aspirational, and Instagrammable.

The Condiment Culture

The condiment boom isn’t just playing out on social media — it’s reshaping store shelves and restaurant menus. Restaurants, too, are leaning in. “Customers now ask what sauces we use,” says Chef Abhay Gupta of a Mumbai café that serves fusion bowls. “Earlier, they cared about portion size; now, it’s, ‘Is your chili oil homemade?’ or ‘Is that real gochujang or a mix?’ It’s wild.”

Even fast-food chains have evolved. McDonald’s offers Korean sauces, Pizza Hut has spicy honey drizzles, and even street momo vendors are upgrading from bottled ketchup to fiery schezwan or “smoky sriracha.” The sauce game has officially gone mainstream.

Hot Takes

Of course, every revolution comes with sceptics. Some traditionalists are still fiercely loyal to their ketchup bottle.

“My dad refuses to touch anything that doesn’t say ‘Made by Kissan,’” laughs Ayesha. “He says everything else tastes confused.”

But for Gen Z, culinary confusion is exactly the point. Fusion is identity. It’s global without guilt. “We grew up on internet culture,” says Simran. “We don’t see food borders.

If I want to eat gochujang with dosa, I’ll do it. Food rules are so last decade.”

The next wave, experts predict, will be hyper-local-meets-global — Indian companies blending millets, tamarind, or curry leaf into gourmet sauces for export. The West had sriracha; soon, the world might have desicha.

Ketchup Time!

Still, let’s not write ketchup’s obituary just yet. Its charm lies in nostalgia — the childhood comfort of dunking fries into sweet tomato goo, of plastic bottles with crusty caps at every dhaba table.

“Ketchup isn’t dead,” says Chef Abhay. “It’s just retired from the front line. It’s now the quiet elder — the OG of condiments.” Maybe one day, when the novelty of chili honey and yuzu ponzu fades, we’ll find ourselves reaching again for that familiar red bottle — not for excitement, but for memory. Until then, India’s kitchens will keep spicing up their identity, one drizzle at a time.