The other mystification is why Heinz was worth so fucking much money. Right before the genius financier whose name is always shortened to a food line bought the company, it occurred to me to wonder whether diabetes would have become so widespread if French fries had not always been paired with semisolid red syrup. The starch, the grease and the sugar equal a triple threat; mayonnaise would be more healthful (and definitely more satisfying). But the whole deal is unsettling. Ketchup is a condiment, an accessory, not essential at all; this is like someone paying billions for a scarf maker. As you read the coverage more closely, though, you see it’s not just about shaking one bottle. The same company makes baby food . . .

All that said, I can’t really get excited about anything Coca-Cola does these days as it tries to save itself from the sugar backlash. My skinniest years were lived on multiple cans a day (supplemented by the occasional undersized bag of potato or corn chips); I could be a very persuasive spokeswoman for avoiding everything but the HFCS elixir. But all the brewhaha (cq) has motivated me to finally recycle a certain plastic bottle I brought home from Estonia way back in I think 2004. Originally it contained Linnuse Kali, loosely translated as indigenous Coke. As the people who brought my consort and me there observed: The Atlanta invader let the poor beleaguered populace, those hardy souls who had survived Soviet oppression by learning to bribe doctors with chocolate bars, keep their sad little local beverage. But Coke would control the refrigerated cases. So they would never be able to buy it cold again. “Ruthless” would never make a good slogan, though.