(Potato) Chip on My Shoulder

photo by Ron Lach on Pexels

For a family that consumed as much junk food as we did, I don’t have many childhood memories of potato chips. I must’ve eaten them on occasion as a (tater) tot. But it wasn’t until my teens that I really began crunching and munching (you know, during my sojourn in Zit City, the perfect time to consume quantities of greasy snacks). 

 

I quickly discovered that, while I would never dream of eating a thousand M&Ms, the same restraint did not apply to Ruffles (I had a definite preference for chips with ridges). And so, I tried to steer clear of this salty temptation. As the years passed, the up-scale chip made an appearance when dining out--the kettle-cooked, multi-colored, all-natural product that garnished my pricey restaurant sandwich (avocadoes, artisanal cheese and locally-sourced alfalfa sprouts). Based on total meal cost, these went for about a buck a chip.

 

I rarely purchased Wise or Lay’s when my kids were growing up, and my current chip budget remains low. These days I am more curious about chip lore, than taste. Herewith, a couple of random crumbs I’ve gathered…

 

Did you know that medically fragile people are sometimes called “potato chips”? This refers to their vulnerability when it comes to having certain operations; their precarious state of health puts them at greater surgical risk. I do not count myself as one of these folks YET, but I’m sure there’ll come a day when I overhear an M.D. refer to me thusly. I hope to accept my future chippiness graciously, although I’d vastly prefer being called “a delicate Limoges teacup” (maybe I’ll add that to my chart, along with my DNR).

 

During my European travels, I have been to Ireland, England and Scotland. Along with wrong-side-of-the-road driving, my biggest adjustment occurred at mealtime. Hamburger and--chips? No, they’re French fries! Bag of potato chips? Nope! Crisps! I find this stubborn refusal to call potato preparations by their proper names very annoying, and wish they’d all just agree with us Americans. While we’re at it, they should also jettison that pesky metric system, and talk instead about miles per hour and pints in quarts. Good riddance to liters (except for soda, naturally!) These stark differences, I feel certain, led directly to our declaration of independence way back when. Sorry, King George, no one tells US what to call our gallon of milk! And what’s up with the “pound”? In the U.K. having a huge amount of them means one can buy an expensive sports car. Here in America, it means one should step away from the potato chips—I mean crisps—I mean—now you’ve got me all confused! 

 

I’ve been sending pitches to a food history magazine recently, researching everything from pasta puttanesca (THAT’s a spicy story) to the inventor of chocolate mousse (the artist Toulouse-Lautrec!) Every issue has a theme; they’ve yet to tackle famous potato snack offerings.

 

But when they do, I’ll be ready to scribble! Let the chips fall where they may.