I grew up in a household that was nearly devoid of junk food. My sister and I each got a single box of sugar cereal each year (on our birthdays), Halloween candy was strictly rationed and bread was dark and made from whole wheat. Potato chips were very definitely a special, once-in-a-very-great-while kind of treat.

Because of the chip control that went on during my childhood, the moments when they did appear on the scene remain present in my memory, even 20+ years later. They became especially associated with roadtrips for me, as my dad would insist that we have some "car snacks" and my mom, who actually loves potato chips, would cave to the special occasion energy.

We'd make a stop at Trader Joe's or some other local natural foods store for thick-cut, kettle cooked potato chips (Kettle Chips play a prominent role in my memories, but the TJ's Hawaiian-style chips also showed up fairly regularly). Handfuls would be carefully doled out to my sister and me in the back seat of the station wagon and we'd slowly crunch our way through our portions. Raina would suck all the salt off the chips before eating, where I'd nibble along the edges, trying to make the treat last as long as possible. We'd ask for seconds and would get them, until my mom determined that we'd all had enough (typically determined by her own salt/grease satiation level), and folded up the bag, tucking it down by her feet for safekeeping.

These days, I occasionally buy a bag of Kettle Chips (I had a salt and vinegar phase during college) but I am untrustworthy around open bags of potato chips. They call to me until I surrender and crunch my way through the entire bag. However, while I do enjoy them, potato chips now are never quite as delightful as those measured handfuls of chips that we'd eat while criss-crossing the highways of the west coast.