I love sauce. I feel that sauce makes a lot of tedious things infinitely more palatable (e.g. vegetables) and takes delicious things several steps further into flavor country (e.g. mashed potatoes, in which case by 'sauce' I mean 'chicken sauce,' i.e. 'gravy'). In the category of sauces, I include dressings, melted cheeses, and any sweet somethings one would drizzle over a dessert.
I knew three girls, each of whom I lived with at one time or another, who would argue about who loved sauce more. They finally established a hierarchy and had shirts made, which ran thusly from least to most: Fond of Sauce; Partial to Sauce; Obsessed with Sauce.
However, while I love sauce, I do not countenance the eating of sauce in itself. Sauce belongs on things. Sauce alone is too powerful of a flavor punch for my liking, and is also almost completely devoid of nutritional value. With one side of my family running to pudginess and diabetes, and the other side running to cancer, I'm pretty keen on nutritional value, and so I keep my sauce consumption to a relative minimum.
Joel, however, feels no such compulsion. The Kruegers, apparently, live forever, and never get fat. Not only will the man pour himself a lake of ranch to go with his pizza, but he will wipe up any excess with his finger and eat it alone!!! Grossness!
H'anyways, just now, I made some caramel sauce (i.e. I microwaved some Kraft caramels in a bowl) to dip apple slices in - waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay easier to eat than caramel apples, and none of that damned core to deal with - and I went a little overboard. We had probably twice as much caramel as we needed, and that's a lot of leftover deliciousness to toss in the trash. Luckily, Joel was there to swab up what he could with his finger. When that failed him, he scraped off the rest with the back of his pen. When the pen no longer sufficed, he licked the last lingering bits straight from the bowl.
Nothing in our house will ever go bad.