‘Excuse me, could I have some ketchup?’ This is one of the most frequently used phrases in my life. I should probably learn to say it in other languages. ‘Disculpe, ¿podría darme un poco de ketchup?’ But, increasingly, I am questioning whether I should ask for ketchup at all. Should I even commit to the humiliation-ritual that is outing myself as that American—the one who needs to drown their food in a blanket of red familiarity, instead of submitting politely to whatever is on their plate.