I spent many years abroad, traveling a great deal, but nowhere did I find a chip that could even vaguely match the crispness or deliver the gratification of a genuine Wise potato chip. When I finish a bag, I wipe it with licked fingers to get every last crumb. I have a special affection for the crumbs which goes back to 1977 when I left the States for 24 years.
In the other countries where I lived, there were only the palest imitations of my true-love chip and so I was reduced to begging favors from my nearests and dearests. From Uncle Dickie in Vermont to Marni the Diva in California – and many friends in between, I asked them to buy me bags of chips and ship them to me – whether I was living in the Middle East or in Europe.
I had a methodology and provided detailed instructions. In order to keep down the bulk, I had them prick the bag with a pin and squeeze out the air. Then they placed a strip of cellotape over the holes in the bag so that it was airtight again. They stuffed as many airless bags as possible in a small box or big envelope and sent them off. My delivery was generally a bag of crumbs, which I would eat by dipping my licked finger into the crumbs.
I have had many moments in life stressing out about what would happen to me if Wise went out of business. Now that I have discovered their proud union, I can transform that worry from narcissistic concern over junk snacks to a show of standing shoulder to shoulder with UFCW 1776. Solidarity forever!