I’m something of a potato chip junkie. I try not to buy chips because I will legit empty a bag almost as fast as I bring it into the house. A bag doesn’t even make it to the pantry. It sits on the counter, waiting for me.

As with other foods, I’m picky when it comes to chips. Unless it’s an emergency, I won’t eat baked chips, which are usually packaged in matte bags. As the joke goes, the shinier the bag, the better the chips taste. On an unrelated note, I once accidentally sampled a lime chip. I do not recommend lime chips.

Although I like barbeque Lay’s chips, I prefer plain Lay’s or original Snyder chips. By the way, at the Goff Estate, we call Lay’s “glazed” chips because that’s how my youngest niece referred to them when she was a wee lass. I use the term Lay’s to comprise the national as well as the store brand. I will eat either, but I have found the store brand to be greasier.

Also, once upon a time, I couldn’t remember the name of the Snyder brand and called them the German chips. After all, it has Snyder of Berlin stamped right there on the bag. My mom was the only person in the family who knew what I was talking about. I later learned that the Berlin in question is in Pennsylvania and not Europe.

When it comes to Doritos, I will only eat the nacho cheese flavored tortilla chips aka the ones in the red bag. No blue bag Doritos for me. My only fault with Doritos is the dust they leave on my hands.

Now that we have those important details squared away, you might not be surprised to learn that I only eat original Pringles or as we call them at the Estate “stand-up chips.” Dozens of years ago, whilst suffering from an excruciating migraine, I heard my late great father come home from a trip to the store and tell my mom that, in addition to the items on her list, he had bought some stand-up chips. In spite of the stabbing pain in my head, I laughed. It made sense. The chips, I mean potato snacks, do come in a tubular container that stands up.

Anyway, recently whilst grabbing some stand-up chips, I noticed the slogan “bursting with flavor” printed on the side of the container.

I love plain Pringles. I could win a plain Pringles-eating contest. Those tubular containers do not last long around me. I’m sure the slogan is printed on the sides of the brand’s dozens of flavors. But believe me when I say it’s not needed to describe the original “flavor.”

Indeed, that’s one of the reasons I’m such a fan.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

As another birthday approaches, I think it’s time for me to once again share some of the life-changing wisdom I’ve accumulated with age.

• For the most part, I prefer generic brands. (This does not include cleaning supplies and trash bags. Parenthetical advice: It’s best to spend that extra money when it comes to trash bags. Trust me and the mess I had to clean up.) But I buy generic oatmeal, condiments, pasta, etc. When it comes to other foodstuff, such as my beloved Boyardee, I insist on buying brands. This brand-name splurging includes toaster pastries aka Pop-Tarts. Much as with the trash bags, I learned this lesson the hard way. A few years ago, I bought a box of store brand toaster pastries. I popped one of the cherry pastries into the toaster oven, allowed it to brown, took one bite, and recoiled in horror. Cardboard tastes better. And I should know. I feasted on cardboard as a child.
• On the subject of food … Always check your order whilst you’re still in the drive-thru. Once whilst a passenger in a car, I told the driver of my intention to go through the bag to ensure our order was accurate and complete. Said driver legit yelled at me, “Do you expect me to sit here in line while you look through the bag?” Well, yeah. Trust me, dear readers, I know from where I speak. On the few occasions when I haven’t followed my own advice, I’ve arrived home to find that my chicken sammich did not also contain bacon or that my bag did not even contain a chicken sammich. These experiences gave me the sads.
• On the subject of restaurants … If you’re ordering a drink at a place that offers free refills, always go with the smallest size. That way, you can keep filling up that cup on the restaurant’s dime. Just the other day, my heart filled with happiness as a young man stood at the other drink machine and sipped and filled and sipped and filled. Just as did I. And people say these younglings have no gumption.
• On the subject of drinks … Back in the day, I usually ordered water at restaurants. After all, water is almost always free and I’m cheap. But I’ve accidentally developed a debilitating addiction to fountain drinks in my advanced age. Don’t be like me. Don’t accidentally develop a debilitating addition to foundation drinks. Stick to free water. But if you’re in the area and you enjoy Dr Pepper, which my adorable great-niece and great-nephew shorten to Pepper, I recommend ordering Taco Bell’s Dr Pepper. Be forewarned: It will change your life.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

It’s safe to say I’m not a foodie. If you’re unaware of the term, our friends at Wikipedia define a foodie, in part, as “a person who has an ardent or refined interest in food.”

So unrefined is my interest in food that, as a reminder, I didn’t learn egg rolls are egg free until earlier this year. No, except for goat cheese and pairings, I don’t have refined tastes in food. As a friend has noted, my food preferences haven’t evolved since childhood. One could make the argument that goat cheese and parings is a grown-up version of a childhood snack.

Indeed, as a wee lass growing up on the Goff Estate, I made meals out of cheese and crackers, potted meat and crackers, Vienna sausages and crackers, milk and crackers, and, my favorite, balls of bread. I haven’t enjoyed potted meat and Vie-ennie, which is how we pronounce it at the Estate, in dozens of decades, but there’s one canned food of my childhood to which I have returned – Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs.

I actually hadn’t had Boyardee in dozens of decades, either, until I developed a hankering for it a few years ago. My renewed interest in Boyardee disgusted my sisters. (They have no room to judge. You should see some of the “food” they eat.) They’re not the only ones. When a coworker saw me stuffing my face with the sketti and meatballs, she informed me it wasn’t food. It was Styrofoam.

Then it’s delicious Styrofoam.

Admittedly, I have to watch my intake of Boyardee. For starters, tomato-based products do not agree with me. Besides, when it comes to Boyardee, I have learned you can have too much of a good thing.

With the exception of roast beef, tacos, and an occasional burger from a certain fast food franchise, I’m not a fan of beef. But the meatballs in Boyardee are scrumptious. The friend/coworker who broke the news to me that egg rolls do not contain eggs is one of the few Boyardee fans in my circle. She, however, said she has concerns about eating meat that sits on the shelf of a grocery store for years.

Maybe that’s why I like it. Maybe I would like more beef dishes if they sat on the shelf of a grocery store for years.

If memory serves, there were but four meatballs in a can of Boyardee sketti when I was a wee lass. Now there are six. Just as when I was a kid, I save those yummy meatballs so I can savor them.

As a child, I also ate and enjoyed Boyardee ravioli. It’s still being produced. I’ve seen it on the shelves, but I haven’t bought a can.

Yet.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.