It’s a Friday evening. You’ve met your friends at the pub or café. Some of you are sipping drinks, others nibbling an early dinner. Then the waitron brings a bowl of chips, and everyone dips in. If it’s a Good Day, the last clear sunshine fading, a little fat and salt sets off your cold drinks and perks you up for running around more later. If the weather is ghastly, their comfort-food crispness is very welcome. Sometimes, you’d better enjoy them, because they’re the only food option at a bar.

The more expensive a bowl of chips is, freakishly, the smaller it tends to be. Chips are dished out by the bushel for $5 at lots of fine places. Many places charge $7. Well…okay…if that’s the deal, I want skins on, flaky sea salt, and aioli on the side. And the hand-cut freshly made potato chips at The Library bar are $8 for a small, frustrating handful.

Some might say that “well, you should only have a small handful of chips anyway!” But in Wellington, any uphill walk home will scorch away those kilojoules.

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