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King of the essential food groups

The Chip Guy's potato chips soon to rule the universe
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They were declared an essential food by the U.S. government in 1942, which meant factories that produced them were allowed to stay open during World War II. In some cases, they were the only ready-to-eat vegetable that was available.

We're not talking canned peas here, or frozen corn — it's all about potato chips. And world war or not, I bet millions of people today would still classify them an essential food and say they're the only ready-to-eat vegetable in their diets.

Never mind the dangers of getting addicted to the darned things, potato chips are to picnics, parties and all round fun times like buns are to hot dogs and candles to birthday cakes. I'm sure the way they've insinuated themselves into our lives is, in no small part, due to that World War II declaration.

The weird thing is the first potato chips weren't launched out of emergency times or good times — they were born out of a pique of resentment.

According to How Products are Made (an amazing resource if you ever want to find out how everyday things we eat and use come to be), the origins of potato chips can be scattered at the feet of one George Crum.

In 1853, as chef at a restaurant called Moon's Lake House in Saratoga Springs, a big attraction for visitors especially from New York because of its mineral springs, Crum was royally pissed off when a customer sent his French fries back because they were too thick. The customer was purported to be Cornelius Vanderbilt — industrialist, philanthropist and patriarch extraordinaire to one of the richest families in America.

One imagines you wouldn't want to offend a customer like Mr. Vanderbilt if you were cooking at a resort restaurant, but old George must have had a good sense of humour and better sense of confidence about his domain for he "sarcastically" shaved the potatoes paper thin and sent the plate back out.

Far from being offended, the customer, whoever he was, loved the things as did everyone else in the restaurant around him who had never seen anything like them.

Soon Mr. Crum opened his own resto across the lake, and his policy of refusing to take reservations seemed to make customers even more determined to stand in line to try his legendary potato chips.

Like every other humanly addictive thing, potato chips spread across the country like wildfire, becoming particularly popular in speakeasies, which illegally sold that other great addiction — booze.

In the early 1900s in America, it was home-based ventures that cranked out potato chips. Since there was no way to preserve their freshness (sealed wax paper bags wouldn't show up until 1925, along with an automatic potato peeler), the chips were made in somebody's kitchen and sold immediately out of the backs of dilapidated trucks or on the street while they were still fresh.

It all sounds amazingly similar to the tale of Whistler's own "Chip Guy."

By day, Neal Harkins is the executive chef at Whistler's Conference Centre. By night he turns into The Chip Guy, cranking out 700 pounds of potatoes a week to feed the addicts who can't get enough of his amazing truffle oil chips.

Rootables Chips, they're officially called, and if you don't get to the Whistler or Vancouver farmers' markets early enough his little homemade bags of homemade chips tied up with a cute little piece of white ribbon will be l-o-o-ong gone.

"Mmmmm....best chips in the universe!!" "Good lord. These are perfect. I had to make someone hide them from me." "I'm addicted to Rootables Chips White Truffle Oil Chips. Please. Help." And so the posts go from the hooked fans on Rootables' Facebook page.

It all started a couple of years ago at the Whistler Welcome Week, which is held to welcome new resort workers each November.

"They had a potato chip contest and Astrid, who organized it, asked me to enter and I did the white truffle potato chip," says Harkins. People then voted on which chip they liked best — and his chips won hands down, two years running.

Although he'd previously made flavoured veggie chips from beets, yams and the like for the lounge at the Westin Resort and Spa when he worked there, the truffle chips were a moment of inspiration. (Harkins still makes mixed root veggie chips, which outsell his potato chips two to one.)

"I just winged it," he says. "There was some truffle oil sitting right there beside me, and I said, huh, you know what? People eat truffle fries, so I just made truffle potato chips."

And thank heaven for that. These chips are amazing — golden brown, crispy things with big, big flavour that's a perfect balance of potato, salt and oil.

Like most chip makers, Harkins uses only Kennebec potatoes — in his case unpeeled and sliced to two mm thick — because their low sugar content means they don't get too brown.

But the main difference between Rootables and most potato chips — that is, besides the stroke-of-genius truffle oil, a perfect flavour foil for potatoes — is that Harkin's are kettle cooked, meaning he cooks each small batch by hand in a commercial fryer for eight to 10 minutes, stirring them constantly (that's why some are folded or crimpled).

He uses only quality canola or sunflower oil, and ensures the oil doesn't go over 300º F, removing any over-cooked chips before dumping them onto a draining rack. He even drains them between folded cloth towels, so they don't get too oily, before misting them with white truffle oil, which isn't as overwhelming as other truffle oils, and giving them a final dusting with parsley flakes and salt.

By comparison, commercial chips can be chemically treated before cooking to enhance their colour. Once the potatoes are sliced — between 1.7–1.85 mm thick — they pass under air jets to remove excess water before flowing through 40- to 75-foot troughs filled with 350–375º F oil. They're then salted (at the ratio of about 1.75 lb of salt to 100 lb of chips) and/or flavoured, cooled on wire wracks and, finally, passed under an optical sorter that removes any burnt slices with a puff of air before bagging.

Whether they're made by The Chip Guy or a mega-company like Lay's — king of the market share with sales over US$700 million a year in the U.S. alone — potato chips rule North American snacks.

We chip away, literally, at billions of kilograms of them a year, and if Whistler's Chip Guy ever goes big time, you can count on that number skyrocketing.

Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning freelance writer who has finally hidden her Rootables Chips on herself.