‘This is a perfect example of where novelty branding has maligned what is actually a tasty crisp: the gulf between expectation and reality ruthlessly widened for the sake of a sale.’
For many, Christmas is a time of gross over-indulgence. The Ventrilocrisp, sickened by an impotent will, began its Christmas with the crack of the whip, intending to put its nose flat to the grindstone and to fatten, not from base greed, but from the fruits of its labours. But the best laid plans oft go awry. O, mortal frailty! The Ventrilocrisp, chancing to close its eyes but a second, fell unwittingly into a black and dreamless sleep. A rest so impenetrable, so fathomless, that it was the new decade before it emerged. Belatedly, the ghost at the feast, the Ventrilocrisp came to these Christmas crisps. Could they reignite the ashes of festive cheer?
This is a thick, hand-cut crisp. Less decadent and leaner than a Kettle, but thicker than your average Joe. The smell —a dead ringer for smoky bacon— is enticing; the distribution of salt is fair. The real Jack-in-the-box is that, despite the fat, blanketed sausages pictured on the bag, these are vegetarian. The flavour is mild: a salty base bedecked with a familiar smoky bacon seasoning, characterised by the tell-tale honeyed, smoky paprika. The discerning tongue detects the fingerprints of the charcoal grill. The crisp is tasty, but it’s undeniably benign: the tortoise, slow and modest, rather than the pacy hare. Though pleasing, this mild-mannered crisp cannot help but disappoint. The Pigs in Blanket label, promising a ruder, spunkier product, has sold the crisp down the river.
The Ventrilocrisp has long taken issue with novelty crisps: it prioritises a long-term partnership over a one-time thrill. This is a perfect example of where novelty branding has maligned what is actually a tasty crisp: the gulf between expectation and reality ruthlessly widened for the sake of a sale. The crisps are depicted as a talking point, but the fact is: they’re shy. The Ventrilocrisp, sweet as a rose, only wishes the crisp had confidence in itself: quiet and likeable, it is better company than the advertised potty mouth. But the Ventrilocrisp has a zero-tolerance approach to an imposter. Does it stab the crisp in the neck, or extend some festive mercy? O earthly weakness! It endows the crisp hesitantly with its recommendation.
- recommend to a friend? ☑️
- eat this crisp in public? ❎
- consider the price to be right ☑️
- readily accessible? ☑️
- need to wash hands after consumption? ❎