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…

CrustiCroc Soufflee Gout Bacon (Baconsmaak)

Today we’re back to our favorite (as in only) local German discount food chain, Lidl, and their own take on puffed wheat with bacon.  Crusti Croc’s approach can be described as ribbed, not for your pleasure, but in an endearing yet creepy attempt to make the crunchy wheat-puffs display the red and white stripes of a strip of bacon.  The effect isn’t entirely visually displeasing, leaving you to imagine a dried out bit of bacon cooked in fat and puffed up like a balloon, but it’s still a little strange eating pieces of wheat that have been dressed up as meat a la Lady Gaga. 

Self-objectification raised to a juicy new
height: triump or tragedy? Just don't
ask Carol Adams...

Yes, you heard that correctly, they are made up of 74% wheat, which officially makes them closer to cake batter and breakfast cereal than most other chips out there.  Healthwise, they are a little healthier than your average chip, and they do crunch satisfyingly in the mouth and have sufficient density to satisfy, unlike some notably airier and brittle snacks I have had in the past.

In my youth, I was very meticulous about keeping the
syrup strictly on the pancakes.  Now, though, I am all
in favor of the syrup tsunami.

What of the flavor?  I would say they got the basic salty bacon flavor down right, while including just enough sweetness not to fall into the trap that ensared Bacon flavored Bugles as thoroughly as a hungry Chewbacca in an Ewok trap.  It’s still a little salty, and with prolonged eating they might start to taste like generic corn puffs endowed with saline, but with a little smokiness and some sugar, this bacon is closer to that sweet breakfast experience than other flavors out there.  In fact the crisps smell very pleasantly sweet and smokey, like a hot fried American breakfast doused in maple syrup just waiting you in the pan.

You had to add all that salt, and
just look at the result...

So though I was very dubious about these bacon-cross-dressing puffs from across the eastern border, I found them entirely pleasing as a light snack, even if they aren’t remarkably sophisticated, and the disturbing meat-stripes may grown on you over time.

Stars: 2 ½

Spiciness Rating: None

Pros:

- Reasonably charming smoky bacon flavor

-Adequate density for a puffed wheat snack

Cons:

- Flavoring is not too complex and may bug the salt averse

Herr’s Baby Back Ribs Chips

        While my childhood was spent happily wolfing down large pork spare ribs in true American style, (something I have waxed enthusiastically about in earlier posts), in my later years I have come to favor “baby back ribs”, also known as Canadian ribs.  Contrary to what you might expect, baby back ribs do not come from actual babies, (no, not even Canadian babies), but are instead selected from the loin end of market weight hogs (as opposed to the usual sows).  Whereas a spare rib measures 6 to 8 inches in length (15 to 20 centimeters), baby back ribs measure from 3 to 6 inches (7.5 to 15cms), with a more favorable proportion of meat to gristle and bone.

Ripping the best bits of meat off spare ribs can
be an exhausting and gruesome task. This wolf
could probably use more sauce while she's at it...

Not only will feminists be happy to see male flesh commodified for a change, but anybody who has sunk their teeth into a spare rib knows it can take a bit of gnawing and worrying to yank off the choice bits; however, baby back ribs take away all the gnashing of teeth and give you pure tender meat that literally falls off the bone to melt in your salivating mouth. 

Baby back ribs, a bandolier of tasty hot meat
ready to shoot off in your mouth. 

Did I mention that baby back ribs make for far more manageable eating portions? Another side benefit is that the barbecue sauce tends to marinate the baby back ribs more thoroughly, as more of the meat and less of the bone is exposed.   Try ordering a half-rack of baby back at a quality rib house such as Rocklands in Glover Park, Washington DC and you may well come to agree that a more saucy and delicious (and messy) all American meal has yet to be invented.

So, I happened to be visiting a friend in Annapolis during my Christmas vacation when I noticed a bag of ‘Herr’s Babyback Rib Potato Chips’ on sale at the local Graul’s market, and immediately knew I had to test this claim.  Would I really be able to distinguish the length of the rib bone simply by sampling the seasoning of the chips?

Image courtesy of Junk Food Betty, who agrees
that while they may not actually be meat
flavored they are pretty damn tasty! 
Note the wide channels between the ruffles.

The answer is “No”, to be brutally honest.  These are not ‘meat’ flavored barbecue chips, they are ‘barbecue sauce’ flavored, exhibiting the traditional mélange of sweat, salty, and smoky.  Yet for all that, they were both original in flavor and utterly delicious.

The Baby Back Rib chips actually reminded me of Ballreich’s Smoky Marcelled Sweet Mesquite Barbecue chips- like that product, these are thick-cut ruffled chips with wide channels in between the ruffles and a sweet molasses barbecue flavor that is highly distinct from most other barbecue seasonings out there.  Whereas the Ballreich’s product emphasizes a sort of greasy lard-flavoring, Herr’s product instead offers strong elements of garlic and hot spices, upping the flavor ante for a pleasingly piquant and surprisingly complex flavor.  The seasoning is thickly and evenly applied on all the chips, coloring them a pretty orange color, and the sliced ruffled potato rounds are a delightfully thick cut, with a soft crunch which allow you to slowly sink your teeth in and savor their disintegrating grandeur.

So, score another victory for the Pennsylvanian chip industry; though these chips may not actually be ‘Baby Back” flavored per se, they are ‘amazingly delicious molasses barbecue with garlic and hot pepper” flavored instead, with super awesome ruffled potato slices to boot.  I’ll call that an amazing victory for my mouth any day, and my friends and I continued to savor the spoils of conquest for the 48 hours the full sized bag had chips left to offer, despite their failure to taste specifically like the soft derriere of a male pig.

Stars: 3½/4

Spiciness Rating: Moderate

Pros:

- Marcelled ruffled potato slices with a slow soft crunch that’s hard to surpass

- Unique molasses-barbecue flavoring that brings an original taste to a genre too full of generic imitators

- Wonderful supporting elements of spicy paprika, pepper, garlic, and smoke

Cons:

- Not actually ‘meat flavored’ or discernibly ‘baby back’

Note: Taquitos.net reports in its rather positive reivew that this product has been discontinued, but they were in stock in  mid-December 2011 and the Herr's web site still shows them as being available.

Lay’s Limited Edition Patatje Joppie (Joppie Sauce Chips)

           The Dutch eat their fries with mayonnaise.  This was something I learned in a tiny restaurant called Amsterdam Falafel, located in the hip bar-lined Adams Morgan district of Washington DC.  In addition to having the best variety of falafel toppings and sauces we have so far seen anywhere, (though I would later discover that the many falafel vendors in Paris’s rue des Rosiers still made better falafel balls), they make excellent fries which are accompanied with little cups of ketchup and mayonnaise.  Now, I have never been a fan of mayonnaise, and always request that it be omitted from any burger or sandwiches I plan to eat, yet the mayonnaise that accompanied the fries was a little thinner than the snot-like consistency of a jar of Hellmans, and was infused with an enjoyable lemon aroma.

            When I finally had the opportunity to visit Amsterdam in December of 2012, I learned that the Dutch actually appreciate a whole variety of sauces accompanying their fries, which they buy from sidewalk vendors served in a paper cone with an enormous dollop of thick sauce in the corner and a cute little plastic fork to eat with and mitigate the inevitable sauce drippage.  The fries were large, hot, and delightfully crispy, and I was happy to try out several sauces.

Yes, there are fries underneath the sauce...the
yellowish glob on  the right is the Joppiesause.

The traditional lemony-mayonnaise proved fun as ever, but on the recommendation of one of the vendors, I also tried something called ‘Joppisause.  This thick pale-yellow sauce proved to be a unique local hybrid of mayonnaise, yellow American-style mustard, onions, and curry for a tasty flavor that exceeds the delights of its constituent components.  Developed by a cafeteria owner named Joppie, the sauce has become popularized across Low Country-wide in the early 2000s, and I would definitely put it on any visitor’s culinary checklist.

            You can imagine my delight when I discovered that Lay’s had released Joppiesause flavored potato chips in a unique Dutch special edition, and immediately snatched a bag for analysis.  It was decorated in a black and yellow pattern that immediately brought to mind the “XXX for Dummies” series of books that was so popular during the 90s, but the product inside was well calibrated to the taste of connoisseurs in my estimation.

They have one for everything
these days...(Just read the fine print)

I found that the folks at Lay’s had captured with perfect accuracy what makes Joppiesause so ingenius- the way that the piquant flavors of mustard seed, onion, and curry spices blend with mild mayonnaise resulting to result in a smooth and creamy flavor.  Well after the visit, the chips so perfectly evoked the sauce that I’m now on the look out for a Dutch fry shop where I can obtain more of it!

            The potato slices themselves are large and crunchy, about as good as can be expected of anything that’s not kettle cooked, with wide gently sloping surface largely free of air bubble or visible seasoning.  (Though normally an advocate of complex textures, I was not bothered by the absence of bubbles, and in general I found the chips' broad expanses crunchy and pleasing.)  So, in short, I advise any visitor’s in Holland to first try Joppiesaus, then try the chips.  Whether you want to serve yourself baked with your fries is up to you. 

Stars: 3½/4

Spiciness Rating: Very Mild

Pros:

- Perfectly evokes the unique Dutch sauce’s blend of mayonnaise, mustard, onion, and curry

- Large above-average quality potato rounds

Cons:

- Hard to find outside of Holland

- Nothing to please the spice addicted or texture-fanatics

Chio Exxtra Chips Tejszines Mediterran Fuszeres

I was only able to translate two words in title of these ruffled chips- Meditteranean and Seasoning- and I'm not sure what ‘Tejszines’ means.  However I can pretty much confirm that these ruffled potato chips are meant to emulate a Meditteranean yogurt/cream and parsley sauce, probably along the lines of Greek tzatziki sauce.  If you have perchance eaten a Gyro, you will recall favorably the white yogurt sauce with flecks of green parsley that is liberallyed soaked upon the hot hybrid lamb-and-beef meat. 

Some thicker tzatziki sauces include
juicy thin chunks of cucumber.

Bottom line, the sauce is yummy and yogurty-sour; though basically uncomplicated, and often infused with garlic, lemon, and salt for extra punch.  I was charmed by the idea of chips flavored along those lines, and found that Chio’s rendition in the seasoning to be clever and evocative.  You can clearly taste both the mildly sour-creamy aspects of the sauce as well as herbal flashes of parsley and oregano.

The tzatziki seasoning is effectively lathered upon ruffled chips which proved to be thick but not crunchy- they exhibited a more pliable ‘soft-styrofoam’ texture which, though not nearly as bad as it sounds, will disappoint anyone who values voluminous crackle-crunch sounds in their eating experience.  The crisps also proved to be amazingly large- one of the chips we found was so long it can only be described as pornographic.

Not a photoshop.  That was at least
5 inches long- the chip, I mean.

These chips are part of the ‘Exxtra’ product line, but though I liked the seasoning, I did not find that it was boldly applied- they could probably have doubled the quantity and it would have tasted just right.  Starting with a flavoring that’s already going to be intrinsically mild (yogurt sauce with parsley) and I think it’s hard to justify the ‘Exxtra’ title, about as appropriate as a documentary “Badass Xtreme style English Gardening.”

"We put the extreme carnage back into
traditional gardening!"

The mildness aside, however, I enjoyed the unique flavor they were going for and the satisfying size and thickness of the ruffled crisps, and they proved a delightful supplement to an evening picnic in a Budapest park.

Stars: 2½

Spiciness Rating: None

Pros:

- Evocative and unique flavoring

Cons:

- Could use more seasoning; does not merit the ‘Exxtra’ label

- Some may be dismayed by the low crunch-factor