Fantasy flavours...

Following on from Gwyneth Paltrow's vagina-scented candles, I read an article in today's Guardian about the history of crisp flavours. I can remember Smith's crisps, with little blue sachets of salt (and the possibility that a packet might contain mostly salt sachets with just a couple of crisps). Then we had cheese & onion, salt & vinegar and - urgh! - prawn cocktail flavours. For years the repertoire of crisp flavours was limited, with only the occasional foray into fantasy flavours (I recall asking in a pub for “a packet of cheese & onion crisps”. “I’ve only got these”, the barmaid said doubtfully: “West Country Chedder and Caramelised Onion Chutney flavour”). Hedgehog-flavoured crisps were a tasty novelty, and the packet reassured us that no hedgehogs were harmed during their manufacture. Roast Ox flavour too - mmmmm. According to the packet they were “suitable for vegetarians” (unlike the ‘cheese & onion flavour”, bizarrely).

Then it all went crazy. We now have flame-grilled steak flavoured crisps (I like them medium rare). Walkers Market Deli Crisps, cooked “in small batches”, have tasting notes on the back of the packet. Last Christmas, Walkers were selling sprout-flavoured crisps (they were green, as were the Shamrock-flavoured crisps I found in Ireland). This year their festive crisp offering is roast potato flavour. Now you can buy Truffle and Champagne flavour and 'Fiery Woodsmoke BBQ’ (even though ‘BBQ’ is a method of cooking, rather than any kind of foodstuff; you might as well have ‘stove’ or ‘frying pan’ flavours).

Stupid crisp flavours might be a test of the nation’s gullibility. My theory, worth as much as you paid for it, is this: if people can really believe in these crisp flavours, and take them seriously, they will be prepared to believe just about anything. There’s hope for religion yet…