Sunday, June 14, 2009

damn these things!

Most people would agree I'm a pretty healthy eater. I stay away from processed foods, eat organic whole foods, yadda yadda yadda. I run. I hike. I do yoga. For the most part, I'm kind to my body.

But I am incorrigibly addicted to potato chips. I love the salt, the oil, the crunch. The ridges. I love them, and I hate them, and therefore I don't keep them in the house, because when it comes to chips, I have no self-control. My eyes glaze over, my mouth waters, and I turn into Homer Simpson.

And how far chip manufacturers (is that the right word? maybe I should use it regardless, as it illustrates the unnatural-ness of chips. But what about all-natural chips?) have come. We have pesto chips. Chips cooked in avocado oil. Chipotle chips. Cilantro chips. Sweet potato chips. Beet chips. Okay, that last one doesn't appeal to me at all, but I'm just saying.

Tonight, I took the kids to see They Might be Giants on the New Haven green. I packed dinner in advance, knowing there would be pizza and french fries and hot dogs (healthy options, too, but those are pricey) in the kiosks along Temple Street. So I threw together some tuna sandwiches on "lettuce wraps" (we're a bit low on bread at the moment). Also on the dinner menu was cucumbers and hummus; home-made granola; and pineapples for dessert. I felt pretty good, though I knew I would still have to find a spot away from the food booths to avoid being seduced by the aroma of fried food and ice cream (I'm also quite vulnerable when it comes to french fries, which are just potato chips in another form).

Kids ate the meal. No complaints. Problem is, we were surrounded by chip eaters. Did the kids notice? Not really. Did I? Yes. Ruffles. Terra Chips. Baked Lays. Tortilla chips. Neither the electric guitar nor the keyboard could drown out the "crunch crunch crunch." My lips craved salt. The homemade granola didn't seem so appealing anymore.

On the way back from New Haven, I did a mental inventory of my cupboards. No chips. And I couldn't stop on the way home. I'd have to go out of my way to find a convenience store, and really, that would just be taking things too far. Okay, I was going to be fine.

So I put the kids to bed. I washed a few dishes. I had a handful of granola. Then I opened the door to the kitchen closet to grab the broom, and a plastic bag fell from one of the shelves. I was about to stuff it in the plastic bag holder; as I was pushing it down, I felt something inside. It crunched. I opened the bag. In it was a small bag of Cape Cod chips. Someone was looking out for me. Or cursing me. Either way, I thoroughly enjoyed them.