Move Beyond All the Gourmet Fromage: French Potato Chips Are Absolutely Depraved.
I recently spent time in the French countryside, a place that seemed exuding refined charm. Discreet, sparkling decorations, outdoor market stands overflowing with remarkably pristine fruit and vegetables, and a vast array of cheeses that could line the whole Eurotunnel with cholesterol. Piled platters of lustrous seafood resting on ice visible behind misty restaurant glass. As I watched a long but orderly procession of well-dressed citizens retrieving their craft Christmas cakes, I felt a traitorous thought, that my home town, York, that transforms into a modern reimagining of a scene of decadence over the holidays featuring e-cigarettes tasting of mincemeat and ready-to-drink concoctions, might benefit from a few lessons.
A Refined Veneer
However this entire “art de vivre” business is merely a polished mask – The country succumbs just as easily to its lowest desires as the rest of us. Merely enter any grocery store to witness it. The crisp aisle is an absolute sink of depravity, lined with flavours including Roquefort, falafel, *carbonade flamande* and salted butter tastes. What kind of person consumes butter crisps? It is reminiscent of a product found at the notorious midway festivals where they submerge butter patties in hot oil. An entertainer has asserted they’re the best crisps she’s ever tasted, but she’s obviously fallen victim to an instance of regional conditioning – she grew up in that very region.
Worldwide Anarchy
It is widely understood the world of potato chip seasoning internationally operates with as few rules as big tech. There is a refusal to allow the humble spud to shine on its own, embellished as it should be by a modest application of seasoning. Our own nation possesses a dubious legacy with crisp flavours on British soil, especially at this time of year. Recently, it should be remembered, introduced Christmas-cake flavoured crisps and limited-edition Beef Wellington Walkers. Let us also recall the occasion when a major retailer believed “prosecco and winter berry” made for a good idea in a salty crisp? I expected more from the home of haute cuisine.
Where does it end? Goose liver potato chips? Profiterole? Gauloises? It's best I halt, lest I provide inspiration.
