Remia—The Sauce That Parties
Remia—The Sauce That Parties
How I inadvertently hijacked a condiment maker’s Instagram handle.
Sometime over the last few years, my Instagram account—remia, set to private, natch—started seeing tags in food-related photos from the Netherlands. A quick search revealed why: Remia is a Dutch condiment manufacturer specializing in French-fries sauces. “Always a party!” exclaims their website, which admittedly sounds a lot livelier than Hellmann’s “Become a Fridge Hunter.”
I registered my Instagram five years before the “real” Remia, which, amusingly, picked remiafans as its fallback. I can only assume they’re not actually fans of me but rather of their own products.
It’s easy to find Remia’s products in the US, and a two-pack of Classic Frite Sauce Fritessaus—their words, not mine—and Curry Gewurts will set you back $15, complimentary bamboo-spreader included. If it’s worth the price depends on your perspective. It’s hard to fault a bamboo-spreader inscribed with “Spice of Life,” but should you be in the market for some good sauces, you probably should look elsewhere.
The thing is this: They can call it Classic Frite Sauce Fritessaus as much as they like, but this sauce feels neither classic nor saucy. There is a metallic taste to it that just doesn’t sit well with me—think Miracle Whip, and you’ll know what to expect.
I didn’t have the fortitude to use the Curry Gewurtz as a fries sauce but rather tried it on a hot dog. I would be lying if I said it was life-altering, but it was at least on par with Heinz ketchup. Take from that what you want.
I have come to terms with Instagram-tagging being part of my life now, baffling as all these Remia-based recipes are. Maybe I’m not supposed to get it. The Dutch are a free-spirited people, and who am I to argue with their occasional indulgence in a sauce that knows how to party?
You can purchase Remia on Amazon.