Talking on the phone last week to some of my Spanish friends, I was reminded of how much I miss them and some other things from the last year. One of the first things that came to mind was potato chips.
I’m not usually much of a potato chip eater. They are a mainstay of Spanish meals, often being served as a sort of appetizer along with anything, from beers before lunch to Christmas dinner. There’s one kind of chip that tastes exactly, freakishly like baked chicken. Even ghetto college parties include bowls of cheap chips along with the 1€ box wine. Spaniards LOVE potato chips.
Throughout Córdoba there are shops specializing in or selling ONLY potato chips, including one just down the block from my apartment. These particular chips are worth loving. Fresh out of the oil (often strictly olive) and still warm, these and Ruffles bear no resemblance. I would stop in and buy the smallest bag, while the old women next to me would buy 1 or 2 kilos (that’s 4.4 POUNDS of chips, people). But who can blame them? Total heaven in a greasy plastic bag.
Music: “I’d Write A Letter” – Al Green from the “I Can’t Stop” album
(I had to mute out the people at the shop giggling at me, the silly extranjera.)