Wherein I eat four smallish bags of local crisps (chips, to us Americans) to see what is what. It seemed like a good idea for 20 seconds at the gas station by my hotel, when I wanted a bottle of soda.
At ten years old, delighted sight. At thirty-three, glee stupidity.
Doritos “Tangy Cheese”
Apparently, according to the bag, this is flavored with the well known traditional British cheese known as “Traditional cheese flavour,” whatever that is. The texture, shape and crunch are vintage American Doritos. I think they just mass-produce these chips by the trillions. The cheese flavor tastes… Latin. Kind of. And cheesy. And Doritos-y. I can’t really place what “Traditional cheese flavour” is, but it tastes like slightly exotic Doritos.
Traditional Britis--er, Americ--er, Mexican?
I’d go so far as to say they’re a bit better tasting than American “Nacho cheese” flavored classic Doritos. The cheese powder they use to infuse Doritos feels a bit… fluffier, than I’m used to.
The scent of the crisps is vintage Doritos: cheese, corn, nothing unique. That sums up just about every brand of Doritos ever made (except possibly that Buffalo sauce one) pretty nicely. Bland, inviting, wholesome, and the same everywhere, like a junk food home away from home.
Deformed Pac-Man
Scent: non existent, or barely cheesy at best. They look like weird hybrid Fritos/pork rinds. They feel like potato-based pork rinds. The mysterious “Traditional cheese flavour” makes another appearance, but with strong hints of onion flavoring. They are loud when you bite down. I mean, really, seriously loud for a chip or crisp. The first few have virtually no flavor, but then it begins to quickly build as your teeth, tongue, and taken over by puffed potato. They taste and feel incredibly rich, though.
I can’t see eating more than a couple handfuls without feeling sick.
Walkers “Worcester Sauce” crisps
The bag, upon opening, smells spectacular. The scent reminds me of hamburgers and steak with potatoes. It’s like a cook out in a little foil bag. Visually, they’re… crisps. Nothing special, there. The texture is odd; they seem to nearly crumble and explode as you bite down, but it’s not unpleasant. The taste: reminds me of a severely toned down salt and vinegar chip, almost, but with subtle Worcester flavors. It’s not a “strong” chip that tries to beat you in the face with flavor; it’s almost quietly flavorful. I think these would go great with a glass of cold beer. I was hoping for a much stronger Worcester flavor—I love the taste of Worcester sauce. They’re good, but a bit of a let down.
Like a face with a wart? Look close.
Emergency late game update: I wrote the above after eating about 5-6 of these crisps, and then discovered another 2-3 that all but screamed Worcester. It looks like the bag is uneven. The later crisps are much better.
So manly it seared my flesh on contact.
This is not an effeminate potato chip.
I was most looking forward to these, as I adore the smell and taste of paprika—I have to, I’m half Hungarian. They smell like barbeque flavor crisps. They look like what I suppose a good paprika crisp ought to look like, never having seen paprika crisps before. The texture is that thick, crunchy sort of ridged chip, rather than that weak girly kind of chip that feels stale half an hour after you open the bag.
Paprika, garlic, onion, and tomato are the flavors here. Oddly for this kind of junk food, I can actually taste them all. Even though my palate and breath have already been ruined by the preceding three types I’ve tried tonight, I can taste them all. This is my favorite chip of the bunch.
Conclusions
Don’t eat four wildly different types of little crisps bags, because it’s unholy and now I feel ill. This is my breath currently:
Did I ever tell you my favorite flavour was paprika?
