the Joy of a deformed crisp

I have a very old friend who in all her many many years alive had never seen a double yolked egg. At the time she was overjoyed with her freak.. But she was most miffed when I told that thanks to the recent automatic candling advances one can now buy cartons of eggs containing only twin chicken embyros. (I’ll bet Jules Verne and Arthur C Clarke never foresaw that!)

That aside, we have all experienced the joy of a deformed crisp. Not the ones that are overcooked, burnt to a.. er.. crisp, nor those that take a slice through some nasty black growth, and certainly not those that look like Elvis, Jesus or Niki Lauda. I mean the tasteful freaks.. Kettle chips the size of Kansas, siamese Twiglets, mutant Monster Munch, concertinaed Quavers, Walkers like little pillows, the devilishly potent air-free wotsit, pretzels that are pure powdered sour cream and chive, or any corn starch snack that does quite reform properly and comes to you as big tasty cake of salt, starch and anti-caking agent.

Let us celebrate their diversity and deliciousness.

Mind you, unpopped popcorn is just hard work.

About caspar

Caspar is just one monkey among billions. Battering his keyboard without expectations even of peanuts, let alone of aping the Immortal Bard. By day he is an infantologist at Birkbeck Babylab, by night he runs
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