Thursday, February 20, 2014

Ode To A Potato Chip (Throwback Thursday)

I am closing down my old blog, and am backing up a few favorites. This one was well loved, and kept coming back to haunt me (in hilarious and awesome ways). I don't plan to have many of these, but this is one of few posts that had to survive the move to The Bon Project.

Lays had tried a handful of potato chip flavors and let people vote for the winner. Below is a copy of the letter I sent them after my experience with their Chicken and Waffles flavor.

Dear Sir or Madam:

I am writing to tell you about my experience with your new Chicken and Waffle flavored potato chips. Recently, my husband and I bought a bag in excited anticipation, having been through the South many times and enjoying fried chicken and waffles at establishments from Roscoe’s House to a dive in Baton Rouge where I danced the chicken dance while the room clapped... but I digress.

Allow me to begin by expressing my suspicion that you have any idea what chicken and waffles should taste like. To set the record straight, I will describe the two kinds you will encounter: the first, a large waffle with a chicken thigh or breast on top, breaded and covered with a cream maple gravy that is not too sweet and not too salty, thus marrying the flavors in a bridge of delight. Or, my personal favorite, a waffle made with fluffy batter, fried chicken with a great salty but otherwise unseasoned batter, likely fried by a grandmother in a dirty kitchen and brought to you on a plate with spots on it, and tons of maple syrup. I mean, lots of syrup. Get jiggy with the butter too, because you’re in the South and I bet you at least familiar with Paula Deen, the Velveeta Queen. If you feel spunky, throw some powdered sugar on there because there is simply no such thing as too much goodness on a waffle. I’m a fat girl from Missouri and my husband is attending culinary school. If I know anything, I know fried, sweet and food so good it will send you screaming home to Jesus with a smile on your face.

I refresh your memory because the chip I put in my mouth tasted similar to burnt hair with delicate notes of horse piss and vinegar. My jaw locked in agony while my tongue nearly beat a hole in my head trying to get away from that awful taste. The smell got trapped in my sinuses, and it took approximately 42 ounces of soda, a sandwich, two cookies and a sucker to overcome the taste that haunted my mouth. And this, dear sir or madam, was before I had the dubious pleasure of burping that chip until my evening meal put some much needed distance between us. I would dare pray it was finally over, and my stomach would percolate and my hell was fresh yet again. I will not tell you the depths to which I sank, but I can tell you I was perfectly willing to lick a cat’s ass so that my breath would improve. Though my coworkers are surely too mannerly to express their disdain, rest assured they hate you too.

It is most unfortunate that this “food” should taste like a gym sock left to fester in a moldy corner. My husband, who has trained himself to eat and break down the tastes of food he does not particularly enjoy, had something akin to a seizure when his taste buds processed your potato chip. That little vein on his forehead, the one I’ve only seen when I backed into a mailbox right after he told me to be careful, it came out and was visible for a full ten minutes. In fifteen years of marriage, I have never come close to this accomplishment. While clinically curious to see if he was indeed suffering from a stroke, I was also curiously appreciative of what it took to make him turn that shade of plum and wish to give credit where it is due. Bravo.

So, apart from that one grudging bit of praise, I will leave off with saying I believe this was an utter failure and will probably never eat one of your products again because you have given me trust issues. I would rather lick the toilet seat of a Greyhound bus station than give you jokers a single penny of my money. You may have surmised that I am also long-winded (I assume your powers of observation are stronger than your sense of taste) so don’t be surprised that this will be posted on my blog.

May your shame follow you for eternity.

Bon “The Geek” Tindle