The subtle economics of potato chips
At the Bread & Circus (well, technically the Wholefoods--two names, one chain ((or is it three names--is Fresh Fields part of that company?)) ) in Santa Fe I'm in the junkfood aisle, deliberating. "What flavor potato chips would we both enjoy?" I ask Lotte.
"get whatever you want," she tells me. "either it's a kind I like, in which case I'll enjoy them, or else it's a kind I don't like, in which case I get to not have any and eat a healthy diet--either way, I'm happy.
A few days later, leaving Ojo Caliente, I open my bag of jalapeño tequilla and lime flavored potato chips, and dig in noisily. "Let me have one," Lotte says, and flashes her don't-give-me-no-flack-about-it glare. (it was a sweet, flirtatious request--Lotta)
I give her one, and no flack about it.
She chews pensively for a while. "Tastes like the none-too-clean floor of a barroom in Texas," she concludes. "Could I have some water, please?"
Ten minutes pass, in which I chew and she drives. The she asks for another. She winces visibly as she eats, but gets it down
"The second worst potato chip you've ever had?" I ask.
She nods.
"you know what that means...they're growing on you."
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