Vandy Chips Review: Are They Worth The Money?

There’s something you need to understand about me.

I will put anything in my mouth. If it’s food, I’ll try it. I want to travel throughout Asia just to eat some weird shit. Sometimes, I’ll see shit on the kitchen counter, think it’s cake, and put it in my mouth only to find its soil from the garden. I don’t even care. It’s worth it to put that shit in my mouth on the off chance that it’s cake.

That said, from time to time, I see weird food in a store and I buy it. I don’t care how weird it looks. I don’t care how much it costs. If it looks interesting, it belongs in my mouth.

The other day, I picked up some Vandy potato chips (or “crisps”) at the local Sprouts. I don’t normally buy potato chips, but I was temporarily distracted by the beautiful packaging. Seriously, check this shit out.

Gorgeous, right? Clean. Minimal. Retro. Harkens one back to the glory days of railroads and Vanderbilts. Just like Vandy wanted, apparently. Since they call themselves Vandy, like close personal friends of the ‘Biltsters. They also make a point of mentioning that Cornelius Vanederbilt (who was also born in New York, not England) is the reason we have potato chips at all.

But, these aren’t “chips.” They’re “crisps”. That’s what they call themselves. The website is Vandy Crisps, not Vandy Chips. Perhaps because they fancy themselves British, even though right there on the bag, they say “potato chips.”

Y’all, they’re from New Fucking York! But isn’t it just like some New Yorker to be all, “Dah-ling. They’re not po-tay-to chips. They’re crisps.” I can practically see the Dowager Countess Violet Crawley taking a bite and saying, “Dear God, they taste so… American.”

These “crisps” are as American as Times Square and foldable pizza. Vandy Chips reminds me of that guy who goes on holiday in England then returns and going on about how chuffed he is that he finally beat his mate at darts.

Anyhow, when I saw the price tag, I was even more curious. Another very Vanderbilt (also known as one of the OG “robber barons“) move.

These potato chips are $13 for a bag. $13! For a 5 ounce bag! (But of course they make it abundantly clear that this is also a 140 gram bag, since they’re British like that.)

You have undertaken to cheat me. I won’t sue you, for the law is too slow. I’ll ruin you.

Cornelius Vanderbilt

Look, I don’t mind spending money on food. I buy organic. I shop at Whole Foods. I spend a lot of money on food. A lot more than normal people. Because I have a problem.

But we’re talking $0.13 per chip. Each chip, thirteen cents. By unit, decent caviar is cheaper.

So naturally, I’m all, “Who do they think they are?” as I grab the back and drop it in my cart.

Because of course I did. What if these $0.13 per chip “crisps” are actually worth it. What if they’re the best chi—crisps I’ve ever put in my mouth? What if they’re the best crisps in the world!?

Soon as I get home, before I’ve even put all the melting ice cream and souring milk away, I break open the bag and pull out a crisp.

Okay, fine. They’re very good. Quite crunchy. Thicker than most with a density not found in your everyday Ruffle. They’re more like a real cheese cracker. That kind of dense. And the gentle French onion flavor is light but not overpowering. This is a chip that will hold some dip. It’s not going to break apart and leave you with a bin of chip land mines mixed with some sour cream.

Plus, get this: They have only 93mg of sodium and an impressive 3 grams of fiber. That’s a lot for a chip. They’re higher in carbs than Ruffles at 22g (Ruffles has 14g) and lower in potassium (153mg to 350mg). No scary chemicals or weird ingredients. (Ruffles doesn’t have those either, by the by.)

All of that said, this is a fine everyday chip for rich people. But for chumps like me, I’m not sure I need a fancy New York crisp for my chipping needs. Especially one so impressed with itself. I get that they’re trying to cater to some kind of elite “crisp” connoisseur. But I don’t know anyone like that.

To me, they’re a fun novelty, not a staple. Something you try to feel fancy. Like renting a convertible on vacation. But driving such a vehicle every day in the winter? No thank you.

Vandy ads keep popping up in my social feeds. They advertise 10 bags for $6 each.

Ten bags.

Ten bags of potato chips.

Who wants ten bags of potato chips so natural and preservative-free that you have to eat them in a few weeks before they go stale or rancid?

Would I buy them again? Maybe. If I’m trying to impress someone pretentious.