Krunchers! Sweet Hawaiian Onion Kettle Cooked Potato Chips

           What on Earth - or should I say, “what in the Pacific Ocean”- is a Sweet Hawaiian Onion?  As it turns out the Krunchers brand isn’t inventing a mythical pineapple-flavored onion, but rather is referring to the ‘Maui Onion’- so called because the best ones are grown off the side of a goddamned volcano in Maui called Mount Haleakala, and how much more awesome could something be than that? 

Despite it's volcano-loving
proclivities, the Maui onion can be
grown in a home garden.

That sinister red volcanic soil produces small onions with unusually low amounts of sulfer and high amounts of water- resulting in a vegetable extra juicy and sweet as a mob mistress.  In fact, these exemplary onions are recommended for raw-eating, which makes me want to one up Johny appleseed by munching away on Maui onions and planting them on every field I can find.  (Ok, to be fair, the Georgia-grown Vidalia onion is also similar in taste and consistency.)

According to Hawaian folklore, the demigod Maui's
grandma lives in the crater on Mt. Haleakala, and
one spring day she might yet pour a tide of liquid
hot magma death instead of onions down the
 slopes of her awesomely named home.

 So, has Kruncher’s really made specifically ‘Maui onion’ chips?  Well, unfortunately, I can’t tell for sure.  To their credit, ‘onion powder’ is nearly at the top of the ingredient list, but no details as to whether it’s Hawaiian onion powder (maybe it is, but I certainly can’t tell!), and the rest of the list is all chemicals of one variety or another with the exception of a hint of garlic powder.  The seasoning does taste mildly sweet, and mercifully light on salt (unlike many other otherwise tasty onion-flavored products).  Some might find themselves wanting to ramp up the sweetness or saltiness dial, but the principle shortcoming is unfortunately much more serious.

One of the few flavors I don't
want to taste in my food.

        That relatively mild sweet onion flavor is completely overpowered by the oil that crisps have been cooked in.  These otherwise impressive kettle-cooked chips have been thoroughly soaked in a (non-trans fat) corn oil that reeks of the sort of cooking oil usually poured on a skillet.  While some may feel that the rough oil brings an authentic touch, it may simply be that it is too authentic, and overpowers the flavoring by far.

An excellent image of Krunchers chips
courtesy of realfitmama.  Note that
they don't have visible seasoning.

This is truly tragic, because in most other regards the texture and potato crisps are really first class kick-ass.  The blonde potato rounds are extra thick (up to 2 millimeters!) , twisted and rumpled in beautifully complex shapes, and wonderfully crunchy in an organically uneven sort of way.  As you munch away at them, you can even feel the (too-strong) oils seeping coolly out of the saturated crisps onto the tongue.  (I should note that the nutritional information shows these chips to be no more unhealthy than an average bag of Lay’s potato chips- and these are gluten free!)

            Ultimately, the over-saturation of the cooking oil flavor and the comparative weakness of the seasoning leaves me feeling that these chips didn’t quite carry the day- Maui onion flavor is a neat concept, but the seasoning is too subtle and the cooking oil is as a discrete as She-Hulk before the red moon.  The amazing quality of the potato round does leave me intrigued about trying other Kruncher’s products; perhaps if I swiped some actual Maui onions and mixed them together I'd get the complete experience.

She Hulk making a subtle
entrance.

Stars: 2/4

Spiciness Rating: None

Pros:

- Incredibly thick and crunchy kettle cooked potato rounds impress with their class and texture

- Inoffensive and light sweet onion flavoring is pleasant and avoids the excessive saltiness common in the genre

Cons:

- Super-excessive corn-oil flavoring oversaturates the chips and overpowers the seasonin

- Many will find themselves wishing for a sweet and possibly slightly-saltier onion seasoning

- It’s unclear that the seasoning is really very ‘Hawaiian’

Ballreich’s Marcelled Smokey Sweet Mesquite Potato Chips

       One of the most rewarding aspects of writing this blog is all the opportunities to expand my knowledge and vocabulary.  When I was sitting down to write this review and trying to decide in which order to write the title for the review (as the presentation on the package, ‘Sweet Mesquite Smokey Ballreich’s Marcelled Potato Chips’, didn’t quite flow to my satisfaction), I suddenly realized I had no idea what ‘Marcelled’ meant.  Well, I had a suspicion, so off I went to Google.

Hair style invented in France in 1872
by Francois Marcel.

          Of course, Marcell refers to a “hairstyle characterized by deep regular waves made by a heated curling iron.” That would describe a large portion of the do’s on the swarms of ladies walking outside my apartment, coming to avail themselves to Paris’s premier African hair salon district.  But it also refers to Ruffled chips with wider and deeper trenches in between each ruffle than usual.  Think, wide as a ridge-cut French fries!

I wasn't exagerating about where I live- every one of those is either a hair
salon or a wig vendor.  I regularly walk on shed diva
hair every morning.  Ah, Paris!

         Needless to say, Ballreich’s chips are precisely of this variety, and all the more charming for it.  Each of the blonde potato chips is large and fairly thick, but in a soft-crunch rather than hard-cracking way.  The long, lazy waves on the chip’s surface happily channel the tongue to lap up the flavored goods, which are admittedly intriguing.

Note the marcelled waves.  A guy found
God in his potato chip bag, because
what else could possily explain a random
cross shaped hole and Jesus fish shaped
burn in a potato chip? With only a gazillion
chips out there, certainly not probability.

           Ballreich’s Mesquite chips reminded me of the sweet molasses flavoring of Grippo’s Barbecue chips, which is high praise considering my stunned enjoyment of that product.  However, Ballreich’s chips emphasize a different, saltier aroma, albeit with equal verve and intensity- the chips appeared to be cooked in, or seasoned, with shortening, aka, lard, and the pervasive salty-fat taste makes the chips taste as if they were fried on a salt pan full of rib-meat and bacon drippings.  (The ingredients list clarifies that the chips are cooked in ‘soybean shortening’, but like many other products derived from the protein substitute, it definitely proves convincing!) That the shortening is soaked inside the chips, rather than applied on top, makes it all the more pervasive, 

Molasses, it must be admitted, looks
suspiciously like the alien ichor in
Promtheus.  Maybe that's why it never
quite caught on as much as honey...

        The downside of the flavoring is that it does bring the chips heavily on the salty side, and some may feel the evocation of lard on the grill is a little disturbing.  (For what it’s worth, the chips have an average number of calories, but an above average number coming from fat.)    The seasoning does, nonetheless, deliver the entirety of the barbecue experience, with mesquite spices (but not hot spices), a general smoky aroma, and those sweet molasses notes (the ingredients list includes molasses, onion, garlic, and paprika powder.) 

Let's admit it, lard can be
disturbing...

         Overall, I appreciated the unique stylings of these crisps, from their lovely marcelled soft-crunch potato slices, the soaked-to-the-bones shortening flavor, and the lovely notes of sweet molasses.  However, the other aspects of the barbecue flavoring are little further in the background than I would have liked- more spice and more sugar would have been a plus- and the saltiness and the fatty-tasting sensation has downsides as a chip flavoring.  As long as you can suppress the instinctive guilt at eating something which really tastes like it’s been soaked in salty, delicious fat, you may still find Ballreich’s fashionably-cut crisps worth giving a try.

Stars: 3/4

Spiciness Rating: Very Mild

Pros:

- Remarkable lard-shortening flavor pervades the foundations of each crisp

- Large marcelled chips with a crumbly soft crunch are pleasure to munch

- Sweet molasses notes in the seasoning distinguish these from regular barbecue chips

Cons:

- At times a little too salty, and the sweeter aspects of the barbecue seasoning get a short shrift

- The shortening flavor may possibly be a turn off for some

Crusticroc Snack Balls Jalapeño-Cheddar

After immense difficulty
I finally found a website
with a pic of the bag
titled Sack Balls .

I’m juvenile enough to find any junk food called ‘snack balls’ automatically hilarious, and of course, detailing that they are made out of spicy cheese is an open invitation to sophisticated humor of the South Park variety.  The Buck Rogers style retro Sci-Fi title adds a delightful kitsch factor to what I can only anticipate to be yet another mediocre product from discount snack-food producer Crusti Croc (a store brand of Lidl.)

If every episode of South Park featured
mutant laser-spear toting sea otters
mounted on ostriches in the ruins of
NYC, I would become a regular viewer.

But nein, the canny German proletariat-feeders at Lidl have in fact formulated an eccentric work of mad (though by no means refined) genius, not unlike their well-documented plot to raise a zombie army to win World War II.  The Corn-Puff Balls are extra-large- about an inch in diameter each- are satisfyingly lumpy and crunchy, and feature a reasonable amount of chewy inner density to make for a snack which floods the mouth with pleasing flavor.

Agent Blaskowicz's escape from Castle
Wolfenstein played a critical role
in the defeat of the Nazi Zombietruppen.

            Now the seasoning itself is no way ‘life-like’ or ‘sophisticated’, and yet is ‘powerful spicy’, as they say in Gone with the Wind, and quite effectively infused with jalapeño.  Unlike far too many other snack foods, there is no lack of flavor, and an extra salty, super-picante experience awaits your mouth for each crackling snack ball you suck into your saliva-gushing maw like a Tyranid Mawloc. 

Mawlocs may not mouth off as much as
your teenage son or a Sandworm of Arrakis
but their gullets do seem to moistly slaver
more gratuitously.  Painted by C-Bomb13.

Unfortunately, the flavor-sensation is rather marred by an undeniable degree of over-saltiness, and fondness for drinking salt water may be a prerequisite for extended eating of these cash-concession corn-puff confections.  The saltiness also rather obscures the cheese flavoring, but overall I found this shortcoming of the Snack Balls rather tolerable when weighed against the lightning those joy-spheres were packing, and recommend them as a flavorful though crass diversion for a night’s entertainment.

Of course one could actually make real
jalapeño cheese balls if one wanted to
as pictured from this recipe by Kooksfood.

Stars: 2½/4

Spiciness Rating: Hot

Pros:

- Nice extra-large corn-puff balls are thick and crunchy

- Flavorful and spicy

Cons:

- Salty balls are too salty

Vico’s Saveur Fromage Bleu et Crème

         When I was little, I was fascinated with Roquefort cheese.  My parents warned me it might be too intense for me, which naturally heightened my interest, as well as the name, which brought to mind some sort of formidable rocky castle.  Fortunately for me, Roquefort is indeed strongly flavorful- though not ‘spicy’, it indeed packs a certain salty punch, wedded to its creamy texture.


Roquefort, the Batman of blue cheeses,
exclusively grown from its very own
mutant bacteria in the moist  caves of
the village of Roquefort, France.

Most Americans are familiar with ‘Blue cheese’ from its use in salad dressing and the occasional ritzy hamburger sauce, but of course it has many other applications, (just try it spread llike butter on bread, it’s great!)  While we Americans have been quick to dip Buffalo wings in some bleu, I hadn’t really seen blue cheese chips until I found a bag on the store shelves by Vico, and I asked myself, “why did it take so long?”  As cheese flavorings are so ubiquitous on the crisps, it’s wonder they took so long to go from cheddar  orange to blue- the movie industry has long realized it’s a hot combo.

Vico decided to keep it classy and not use any artificial colorants, which I have to admit is slightly disappointing but probably prudent, so you will be looking at plain blonde-yellow chips upon tearing open the bag.  Vico has consistently impressed me with their crisps, and these ones were enormous and full of delicious air bubbles.  Staring at the bisected half of one of the chips, I felt I was beholding the desiccated husk of a pint-sized whale, so expansive and bulbous with air bubbles were the chip’s proportions.  Like other Vico products, they proved to be extra hard and crunchy.

On second thought, that metaphor may
not be as tasty looking as it sounded...

But what of the flavor?  I would characterize it as cunning in its mimickery- yet sadly insufficient.  One bite of the blond crisps will unleash the familiar salty aromas of blue cheese- oh yes!- mixed with a milder creamy aroma, but then there is no follow through, the taste does not last.  So though the experience is evocative, the flavoring has not been applied in sufficient quantities to make it linger memorably.

Roquefort is not the only French blue
cheese- the above pictured Bleu
d'Auvergne has a butterier texture,
and incorporates rye-bread mold
for a mellower flavor.

Overall, I would still recommend giving these a try because the blue cheese flavor is cool and unique and deserves to be expanded upon; as it was, I was tasting about 2/3 potato chip to 1/3 blue cheese, a proportion which must be improved.  Vico should still be commended for shoring up this obvious void in France’s national chip portfolio, and we can only hope they and others will continue to refine the concept to more ambitious and assertive ends.  Plus: anyone interested in making some Camembert chips?

Stars: 2½

Spiciness: None

Pros:

- Gets the salty flavor of blue cheese nearly right

- Large crunchy chips with delightfully bulging air bubbles

Cons:

- Flavoring lacking necessary density and intensity, does not dominate over the potato-chip flavor

Lay’s Strong Chili & Lime

      When I saw in a grocery store in Budapest that Lay’s had released Chili & Lime chips, I recognized the brilliance of the concept immediately.  Who doesn’t adore a nice wedge of lime with their Corona?  (Or less respectably, those lime-flavored beers- I’ll own up to it, someone has to come out and admit it!)  This is a flavoring concept that just needs to have its voice heard by the masses, though for now the masses with the opportunity appear to be exclusively speakers of the Slavic or Magyar tongue.

Limes help fight scurvy!  But not
as well as lemons.  On the other
hand Wikipedia claims that limes
are more sour than lemons, but
science says it's wrong.

       As I’ve previously noted, flavorists have recently begun to appreciate the possibilities of making truly tangy chips, and that zest with which they applied themselves here is commendable.  No, they haven’t made anything even the least bit tongue-curdling or acidic, (nor would I have condemned such a product if they had)- the packaging proclaims these to be LIME flavored, the sweeter, greener, and mild-mannered cousin of the lemon.  Yes, they don’t even have their own name in French (citron vert = ‘green lemon’), but the difference is real.  If you’ve ever squirted a wedge of lime onto some salty tortilla chips or into your beer, you’ll recognize the sensation immediately- sweet and tangy cool, without in any way revisiting the Sour Patch Kids experience.

        Now, these are supposed to be Chili and Lime chips, but the Chili isn’t so dramatic- basically there’s a pleasantly spicy afterburn as you munch on these that contributes to the picante-Tex Mex vibe, but the heat factor is pretty unthreatening and the actual flavor is really all about the hand-grenade fruit.  The crisps themselves are ruffled and about 2 inches in diameter, vaguely orange in color with a decent sprinkling of black pepper.  They are thick and fun to sink your teeth into with a crunch not unlike a cave collapsing, and the bag I acquired in Hungary managed to stay fresh and crispy for a surprisingly long time.  The package proclaims they are ‘best with cold drinks’, and while this might seem like a cocky bit of macho self-promotion, eating them does indeed create a desire for accompanying beer or soda, and the two do complement each other well.

Though Lay's Chili Lime chips are hard to find,
Des at LifesAmbrosia.com has an awesome
recipe to help you convert plain potato chips
to jalapeno-lime godhood.

        In short, I loved these chips and they helped me nostalgically revisit all sorts of tasty Latin/Tex-Mex cooking that is sadly unavailable in Paris.  The additionally tragic/ironic aspect to these chips is that they are apparently being sold all throughout Eastern Europe (the packaging is translated in Estonian, Latvian, Lithuanian, Hungarian, Czech, and Slovak!), but I have seen no hint of these delicacies in France, nor am I certain this variety is available in the United States.  (I am aware of several Chile and Lime chips by Lay’s available in the United States, but none of them appears to be ruffled.  Let me know if I am wrong in the comments!)

Stars: 3½/4 Stars

Spiciness Rating: Moderate

Pros:

- Absolutely nails that tangy-but-mellow sweet-lime on chips flavor

- A pleasant, spicy afterburn

- Wonderfully crunchialicious ruffled crisps

Cons:

- Not especially Chilli flavored

- The spice level is only moderate in intensity

Barcel Takis Nitro Habanaro & Lime Flavored

           It’s my firm belief that anyone biting into the crimson pirouette-cookie look-a-likes known as Takis Nitro will be convinced that their mouth has just been squirted with watermelon bubblegum flavoring.  Or something like it- there’s an undeniable and thoroughly bizarre fruit-aroma that falls short of actual sweetness at the first bite that goes way beyond the typical lemon-lime citrus flavor that is implied on the packaging.

A bowl of Takis.  Note that
the 'Nitro' variant is actually
a darker crimson in color. 

There’s no doubt that Takis Nitro is a very extreme and colorful product, but I’ve actually run into a similar concept in France- basically tortilla chips rolled up like scrolls into tubes resembling pirouette cookies or penne pasta. These actually convey the seasoning effectively and crunch in a most satisfying fashion, and I hope that the idea catches on in the United States. The Takis Nitro variety are also undeniably beautiful, each three-inch corn chip roll thickly covered in eye-pleasing dark crimson seasoning. They couldn’t have looked better if they’d been painted.

            The brilliant colors of the Takis rolls promise the extreme flavor and flaming hot appeal of a red race car or shiny-latex seductress, and the Nitro Takis deliver exactly that: extreme sourness and extreme spiciness, served alongside the completely incongruous and altogether strange fruit flavor.  The snacks will reliably set your mouth aflame like a control panel on the starship Enterprise and expel the snot from your sinuses if you eat more than a few at a time; I mean that in a good way, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.  They are also more sour than a sour patch kid and leave you feeling like you bit into a lime.

The warp drives and phasers are awesome, but
the arcane science behind seat belts appears to
have been lost in Star Trek, and the computer
screens seem to be based on Soviet TV sets.

            And yet, despite being an aficionado of the spicy and the sour, these crisps don’t quite succeed in pleasing.  The weird fruit-aroma is part of the problem, I think, as it creates an expectation of sweetness that the seasoning doesn’t actually deliver.  Chips and salsa/guacamole complement each other well because the saltiness of the chip is combined with the sweetness or sourness of the salsa, but here that sweetness or saltiness is lacking, and the tongue is kind of left hanging limply, though no doubt in part from the beating it just received from the scary habanaro seasoning.  Alas, Sour and Spicy without either Sweet or Salty does not a complete flavor make (for me.)

Imagine these, spread out on a chip
without the sugar, and you will know
the flavor of Takis Nitro.

            There’s no denying that Barcel concocted a ridiculously over-the-top product with their Takis Nitro, with its uncanny fruit aroma and mouth-scorching habanero and lime flavor.  Unfortunately, I can’t say I quite enjoyed it; nevertheless, the experience is strange enough that I found myself frequently curious to try a few more in a fruitless effort to grok its sheer gonzoness.  Anyone who appreciates the super spicy or the grotesquely weird should give these a try- you may or may not love them, but you probably won’t forget that they tasted like a spicy watermelons, without the sugar.

Note: These chips are available in Mexico and the United States

Stars: 2 /4

Spiciness Rating: Flaming Hot

Pros:

- Ultra hot and super sour

- No lack of crimson-colored flavoring

- Wrapped nacho scrolls are extra crunchy and beautifully coated with spices

- Weird fruit flavor?

Cons:

- The lack of sugar or salt to tie together the sour and spicy makes these chips feel incomplete

- The sour and spice are too intense for the comfort of many (most?) palettes

- Weird fruit flavor

Tyrrell’s Sea Salt & Cider Vinegar

           Tyrrell’s Sea Salt & Cider Vinegar chips have been staring at me from their lofty perch on the store shelves for months since I installed myself in France, sniffing with disdain at my penny-pinching ways.  Each time I glared up at them, my eyes would go red with a mixture of envy and burning class resentment, as befits any proper English story.  The aristocratic Eton graduate (ahem, “English Eccentric”) on the cover, smiling drolly into his cup, is no doubt laughing at my peasant-like ways.

            A friend of mine, however, possessed the unthinkable fortunes necessary to set a bag out on the gaming table one evening, and I was forced to admit that the Tyrell’s chips every bit deserve their elevated price.  It’s as if the nobility were born with magical powers and super-human strength; these chips deserve to rule.

If Christopher Lee were
 the Prince of Wales, you can bet
the paparazzi would be afraid to
photograph him dressed up like a
servant of a totalitarian regime.
Hereditary monarchy would be a much
more persuasive political system if
aristocrats were all born more like
Count Dooku.

            The bag claims the chips are ‘hand cooked’, and the quality of the slices is so impressive, you can be damn well sure that a line full of orphaned children is carefully slicing them at the conveyor belt while Charles Dickens hovers in the background, taking notes for his next novel.  Unlike any other chip I’ve reviewed before, you can still see the brown potato skin rimming each individual round.  The crisps are extra-thick (up to 2 millimeters!), complexly shaped, vary from small to medium-large in size, and are utter delight to crunch.  The visual appeal is only further magnified by the abundance of salt crystals plainly visible on each slice.

But do you really appreciate them being
"hand cooked" when it's their hands
doing the cooking?

            This brings us to the seasoning, which is in a word, magnificent.  The English share with Americans a fondness for all things fried and battered, and these chips clearly draw some inspiration from the vinegar accompanying a traditional fish’n’chips ( 'fries' to use the American term).  The cider vinegar is sweet and pervasive, but a lot less acrid than other vinegar chips; it is complemented beautifully by the large salty crystals artfully sprinkled across each slice, which manage to deliver a piquantly brackish sea-sting that lingers tantalizingly on the tongue without overwhelming the chips as a whole.  (I’m very critical of overly salty chips, but these most definitely cannot be counted among their number.)  In other words, you can distinctly taste the potato, the vinegar, and the salt as separate phenomena with each bite, which makes for a delightfully pluralistic eating experience.  All the while, the blend of seasoning is carefully balanced between the poles of minimalism and excessive saturation.

Spirit Vinegar: the strongest variety
of vinegar (5-20% acid), traditionally
made out of sugar cane.  Also,
possibly, ectoplasm....

            The ingredients list is also so politically correct it should run for office: 100% natural ingredients, including 3 varieties of dried vinegar (cider, spirit (?), and malt), sea salt, apple powder, and rosemary extract.  But these are Tory chips, make no mistake, and properly represent those segments of the society that feel that the Magna Carta was one step too far towards the proletarian abyss.  That’s all right with me, though; chips this good deserve their exaggerated prices, and I must confess I can’t readily think of any American chips which are quite as classy as these- but that’s only proper.

Stars: 4/4

Spiciness Rating: None

Pros:

- Amazing thick-cut kettle cooked crisps that retain their brown potato skins on the edges

- Delightful sweet vinegar flavor which excites the tongue without stinging too much

- Flavorful salt crystals that deliver motes of savory sensation without dominating the flavor

- Natural ingredients, free of Gluten and MSG!

Cons:

- Price?

Vitasia Wasabi Chips

            What follows is a first-encounter-with-Wasabi story, followed by a review.  Many people have mixed feelings about Wasabi, the Japanese horse-radish like plant that is often served as paste to accompany sushi.  Many lust for its intensly spicy sensation, it’s flamethrower like effect on the nostrils, its exotic mustard-like aroma.  But many have been hurt by Wasabi.  Badly.  So badly, they swear off Wasabi and believe it their mission to shelter all innocents from its piquant embrace.  This is a tragedy, but even more terrible is their spreading of these repressive anti-wasabi teachings, thereby preventing others from realizing their own spicy Aspian bliss.

Wasabi plant being converted into Wasabi
paste.  A dissapointing fact: most
'wasabi' products (paste, powder, etc.) are
 not actually made from wasabi, but rather
 a mix of horseradish, mustard powder
 and green dye. Like the characters in
the Matrix, we have no idea what reality
 tastes like; but at least the approximation
 is good...

            My history with wasabi began ten years ago, while I was working on a human trafficking internship for the International Rescue Committee in Phoenix, Arizona, and living away from everyone I knew in a small apartment by myself.  My mom, being a quintessential mom, sent me packages.  The first one that arrived included an assortment of books, baked cookies, and some garishly multi-colored canisters that looked like they should hold tennis balls.  But no, they were cans full of Wasabi peas.  So eating all by myself in my lonely Phoenix apartment is how I discovered Wasabi- and also played through 80% of Baldur’s Gate II.

They look so innocent...

            Wasabi (or more realistically, what we associate as being wasabi- see the caption above) is great- it packs a dry hot burn like a desert khamseen that can really scorch the nostrils if you’re not careful.  One of the first things my partner Erin taught me was a trick to avoid the dread eye-watering nose-burn: inhale continuously through the nose after eating, and you shall know no pain.  Erin remains a much bigger wasabi fiend than I.

Khamseen: a hot, dry, dusty windstorm
of the sort common in North Africa. See
also: your nostrils after eating a hand full
of wasabi peas...

            Considering how long it’s been slathered and sprinkled on other kinds of dried snacks, it’s only fitting that I’ve started coming across some Wasabi potato chips in Western markets- really, the idea should have been popularized way sooner.  But leave it to Lidl, the German discount chain, to randomly to acquire some overstocked ‘Asian-Food’-Actually-Made-in-Europe and flood the local store with it.  We were not too impressed by the Bami Goreng box on sale by the same company, (too salty), but the Wasabi chips did not disappointment.

Baldur's Gate II : the game that forced you
to resolve catfights between a widowed
druidess looking for a rebound
 relationship and an elf circus freak
 with flightless wings eager to have
your babies- while dealing with a
politico-religious succession crisis
 in an aquatic  kingdom of shark men. 
Seriously.

            The crisps themselves are a pretty green in color, as one would expect, and the flavoring is no more and no less than what you’d expect.  They taste absolutely like real wasabi, and inspired me to cram my mouth to get one more blistering hit, but I should note that the burnination was generally under control.  The chips are spicy, but less likely to set you on fire inside-out than the Wasabi peas I cut my egg-teeth on, or other Wasabi-related things I have eaten.  Overall, this is probably a good thing, but it will disappoint anyone craving the firepower to sterilize their sinuses.

Not enough Burnination to please
Trogdor, for better or worse. 
But if you need more,
here's a guide...

           
The potato slices themselves were kind of unimpressive- standard Lay’s chips that are ultra-thin and not particularly crunchy.  They still did their job, but I believe I would have enjoyed them more if the crisps hadn’t been as flimsy as paper cranes in a hurricane.  So, I don’t doubt that other manufacturors have gone ahead and formulated Wasabi chips, and if they are at least as good as the ones by Vitasia, I definitely recommend trying them out.  The idea is so obvious and intrinsically worthwhile that the product itself doesn’t have to be of super high quality to still provide a welcome surprise fireball cleansing for their taste buds and nose hairs.

Stars: 3/4

Spiciness: Hot

Pros:

- Delivers the classic-Wasabi flavor, just like you’d want it

- Adequate flavoring, adequate heat-

- Chips are as pretty green as leprechaun lasses

Cons:

- Strictly no frills

- Rather weak in texture

Pringles Xtreme Screamin’ Dill Pickle



There seems to be a remarkable
number of haters out there.
People be like 'I hate pickles
and these chips taste like goddamn
pickles!" and I be pitying the fools...

I’ve always been a fan of vinegar impregnated pygmy cucumbers, aka pickles.  However, in my youth I principally ate French cornichons- gherkins averaging only 3 inches in length and soaked in tarragon to produce an extra-crunchy hyper-vinegary experience.  The larger American standard, the dill pickle, uses medium sized cucumbers rather than gherkins, resulting in a ‘creamier’ inner texture.  Initially, I felt the American pickles were a little weaksauce in comparison to their miniaturized French cousins, but over time I’ve grown quite fond of them as a traditional accompaniment to deli sandwichs, and I’ve discovered not a few varieties that pack their own uniquely garlicky punch.

The French cornichon: about the size
of your pinky, but with twice the amount
of vinegar.

            My first encounter with some of Lay’s pickle-chips a few years earlier left me distinctly underwhelmed, so my expectations were guarded but hopeful when my partner returned from Christmas vacation in the United States with a tube of Pringle’s Xtreme ‘Screamin’ Dill Pickle’ chips.  In general, I think the Pringles Xtreme line has succeeded in creating the sort of strong flavorings I appreciate, though some of their products have proven more inspired than others.

The American Dill pickle, rather girthy
in the good sort of way.  Many of them
are even longer than this too...

            Screamin’ Dill Pickle chips, however, proved to be a vinegary torpedo blast completely deserving their hyperventilating title, and I immediately and irrevocably swooned to their considerable charms.  The super-sour vinegar flavor pervading each chip never failed to impress with its briny power, and it’s all tied together with an unmistakable aroma of dill seed that powerfully evokes the classic American sandwich spear.  I deliver this praise despite having never been a fan of dill seasoning, (spare me the dill havarti!), but here it so perfectly nails the flavor that it leaves me trembling with a thrill of homesick nostalgia.

Koolickles: pickles mixed with Cool-Aid,
apparently all the rage in the American
South, along with pork braised in Coca
Cola and the like.  I've never liked sweet
pickles, but I'd be lying if I didn't say
I was curious... 

             In short, these chips are a delight to eat and an inspired homage to the dill pickle, and I have little trouble recommending them to anybody who appreciates exotic chip flavors, vinegar, or phallic vegetables in a jar.  For now, I shall have to content myself with the slightly more piquant charms of French cornichons, (traditionally eaten with paté), but I have these to remind me of the larger (as usual) American variety.

Stars: 3½/4

Spiciness Rating: None

This French recipe involving cornichons
looks completely awesome!

Pros:

-          Flavor emulation at its best! Remarkably evocative of actual dill pickles.

-          Excellent and powerful sour vinegar flavor

-          Exquisitely subtle dill seasoning

Cons:

-          As for any Pringle, the quality of the crisps reaches a fairly well established ceiling…

Cerealis Chips-Up Hot & Spicy

My final Tunisian Chip sampling was to take place nearly three months after my partner’s return from Tunisia, on a picnic in the Gardens of Versaille.  By Gardens we’re talking about a piece of property the size of a national park, and you can vividly see in the beautiful flower arrangements, breath taking vistas, and scarifying hedge mazes all of the peasants that were left unfed just so that the Sun King could employ a gardening staff the size of an army division and coat his wrought iron garden-fences with gold.  Yes, the peasants are revolting, but oh my god, just look at those hydrangeas!

In this romantic setting of reflected glory (quite literally, it was a very sunny day and there was a lot mirror-polished gold all about), I opened up the last Tunisian chip bag and began my degustation.  Yet again, I found that the imagery on the bag- which suggests something rather potato-chip like in appearance- to be deceiving.  The Chips Up line instead appears to be made out of a mash up of recombined potato mix pressed into softly-crunchy shells reminiscent of Indian papadum or Asian shrimp chips.  This is not meant to sound as gross as it does, it just needs to be clarified that these are not potato chips but potato-based snacks. On the whole, each of the ‘chips’ is pretty large and abundant with surface area, and their soft crunch is reasonably satisfying.

Given the relatively tame nature of so many chips that claim to be spicy, I actually had pretty low expectations that these chips would live up to their title.  Here, though, I was to be pleasantly surprised- Cerealis did not skimp on applying the spices, and each individual crisp proved to be potently piquant.  They did skimp on the food coloring, which in general is something I’m supposed applaud them for, but I must admit eating pure-white chips without any visual cues as to their spicy nature can be a disconcerting experience.

Papadum: thin, crunchy and salty indian
cracker/chip things, preferably eaten
dipped in chutney or tamarind sauace.

A more serious shortcoming, however, is the lack of additional flavors.  They are not spicy-barbecue, or spicy-garlicky, or spicy-pepper (though the cover art does suggest some bright red pepper powder), they are just plain spicy without apparent flavor they are specifically meant to evoke.  So although I respect their spice-power, like the infamous band, I want some more substance to go along with it.

           

Yes, the gardens go on until the end of the canal.  And they
gon on for a mile on each side, too.  And there's a special
palace just for the Queen behind the woods to the right...

‘Chips Up’ appears to be an entire line of what I assume to be similarly formed crisps with different flavorings, and assuming they can apply other flavorings with the same effectiveness that they applied the spices on the snack I tried, I think they might be worthy of consideration by travelers in Tunisia (or natives, for that matter.)  While hardly revolutionary, the potato-snack format is a little more quirkily original than the other Tunisian chips I tried, and the genuine spiciness of the Hot & Spicy variant suggests that the other flavors might show some similar virtues.

Stars: 2/4

Spiciness Rating: Hot

Pros:

- Recombined potato-snacks that are somewhat original and boast excellent surface area

- Truly, genuinely spicy-hot seasoning on each crisp

Cons:

- Serious lack of supporting flavors

- May be disappointing for anyone expecting crunchy potato chips