One Chip, Two Chip, Red Chip, Blue Chip

Potato Chips (or crisps if you come from THAT part of the world) was never something I even remotely considered as something you could make at home. It wasn’t until local places like the Crystal Beer Parlor started cranking out these homemade beauties with an abundant topping of blue cheese sauce that the thought of doing a homemade version came to mind. Now, it’s more or less a staple in our soul food kitchen. Like a lot of items, however, it’s not on the menu, and you need to know to request it.

As with so many things across numerous fields, success (or failure) really comes down to the basic question: Do I have the proper tools to do this? In this case, it’s all about having a Benriner mandloline for the razor thin slicing, not to mention a careful touch to ensure that one of your fingers doesn’t become part of the batch of crisps. Perhaps it is true that the difference between men and boys is the price of their toys, but this mandoline, despite its modest price tag, is no fucking toy. As someone who grew up using a band saw in the meat department of our family grocery store, I can tell you, this mandoline is not to be messed with.

But it does turn our brilliantly thin potato chips (and other things as well, such as finely sliced red cabbage to make a beautifully nuanced braise. But I digress.

So aside from the challenge of having the right equipment on hand, what would keep you from making potato chips at home? Michael Ruhlman, in his wonderful book Twenty, lists most of the major reasons regarding the resistance, including: fear, cost, association with fat and high calories, and smell. OK, I get all of that. But if you’re already going to buy a bag of snacks like this at the grocery store, why not at least do it the right way instead of scarfing down commercialized shit in over-the-top packaging with a bunch of chemicals? At least I know that if I’m straying a bit from my eating norms, all I’m eating is a freshly sliced potato, pan-fried in minimal oil and sprinkled with sea salt. That’s it.

Frankly, I’m a little worried these days. I think I’m morphing into a somewhat more catholic version of my hippy-dippy health-food mom. When I start making commercial quantities of yogurt in the bathtub, please do call someone and get some help here. Meantime, the kitchen is open.