My Pantry Is Not Broken

Series: Bad Habits
[1. The Pantry] • [2. The Box]

Part 1 of 2: How my sister taught me that a handful of chips can change a day.

Why does everyone think my snacks need supervision?

A Salty Personality Flaw

Let me be clear so we do not waste anyone’s time. I am not a model of good eating. I am not a guy who keeps almonds in the house to feel better about himself.

I am a salty slacker.

Potato chips. Pretzels. Doritos. Those hard, crunchy fried Cheetos that once cracked a tooth and cost me a lot of money at the dentist. That was not a phase. That was a bill.

Salty snacks are an "anytime" food. I eat them in the morning. I eat them at lunch. Sometimes I stand in the kitchen because I forgot why I walked in there, notice the bag is open, and just start eating.

I do not read the labels. I just check to see if the bag tastes the same. If it doesn't hurt me, I eat it. Sweets, however, follow a different set of rules.

The People Who Want to Fix Us

Every so often I read an article about how Americans eat. It’s always full of big words about "wellness" and charts with percentages. It’s written by people who have clearly never stood in a dark kitchen at 10:00 p.m. staring into a bag of pretzels.

These writers think the problem is that we are confused. They think if we just understood food better, we would act better. They write like we are all walking down the store aisles thinking, “Wow, I had no idea these chips weren't as good for me as a carrot!”

We know. We know exactly why we eat them. We eat them because life is long and sometimes boring. Sometimes you just need something crunchy that does not talk back.

These articles assume people have clipboards and perfect self-control. I don't have either. I’m barely holding it together. And yet, I keep reading the articles for fun. I like knowing that somewhere, a person with a very expensive degree is convinced they can save me with a graph.

The Case of the Disappearing Chips

Before anyone fixes my diet, I want someone to explain what happened to the bags.

I am old enough to remember when a bag of chips was heavy. You needed two hands to hold it. You didn't just finish it in one sitting unless you were having a very bad day.

Now I open a bag and it feels like a sample. It’s not a meal; it’s a suggestion. The companies call this "shrinkflation." That’s a fancy word for, "We think you won't notice we're ripping you off."

The bag is still the same size. It has the same height and the same crinkle. But inside, there is just a tiny layer of chips social distancing at the bottom. You reach in expecting a handful and your fingers hit plastic immediately. It’s sad.

There is more air than food in there. It’s not even regular air. It’s "protected" air. I don't need a bag that zips shut when I can finish the whole thing during one commercial break. It makes me do dangerous things, like opening a second bag without thinking. Suddenly it’s a Tuesday night and I’m "double-bagging" snacks.

I’m not asking for a giant portion. I’m just asking for honesty. If you’re going to sell me six chips, just hand them to me and let’s stop pretending this is a "Family Size."

Where This Probably Started

This might not be my fault.

Some of my first memories of my sister Elaine are about the bus stop. She would get off the bus after work, still in her coat, and hand me a small bag of Dan-Dee sour cream and onion chips.

She didn't give me a lecture. She didn't ask about my day. She just pressed those chips into my hands like a little trophy. That is love. It’s also probably why I think snacks are a requirement for living. You don't forget the person who brings you chips for no reason.

When Small Things Were Enough

When I told Elaine about those chips recently, she laughed. I was only nine or ten back then. She said the bag was probably what we’d call "Party Size" now, but it felt huge to me. It felt like winning the lottery.

It was special because it was a surprise. It was a small kindness. That got us talking about how different things are now. Kids today have everything all the time. Nothing feels rare anymore.

Elaine told me about her sixteenth birthday. She had been asking our Mom for a new pillow. Just a soft, big pillow. Mom found one at a little store and wrapped it up like it was gold. Dad got her a record—Lulu, To Sir, With Love. And Mom baked a German chocolate cake from scratch with coconut frosting.

She said she was in heaven. No big party. No mountain of toys. Just a pillow, a record, and a cake. That’s the stuff that stays with you. It teaches you what "special" feels like.

That’s why a bag of chips at a bus stop changed my life. I was trained early.

Cookies and Order in the House

Here is how my house works now. Salty snacks have no rules. They happen whenever. But cookies are different.

Every night, my wife Jan bakes fresh cookies. They are warm and homemade. This is a daily miracle. I will be honest: I do not deserve the nightly cookies. I haven't done anything to earn a warm prize at the end of the day, but I eat them anyway.

Cookies are the end of the day. I sit down for them. I slow down. I don't watch TV or check my phone. I just smell the butter and sugar and know that the day is over and I don’t have to make any more choices. This has worked for years without any government labels telling me what to do.

The Fiber Fiasco

I do try to be healthy sometimes. Nightly cookies are balanced by Jan’s green vegetable and salad routine. It’s a deal I made with myself.

Then my friend Chuck told me about Fiber One cereal. His doctor liked it. Chuck said to eat a little bit every other day. But I only hear the parts I want to hear. I started eating a lot of it, every day.

Most people get gas or bloating from fiber. Not me. My body just decided to shut down. The fiber binds me up like a clogged pipe. It’s like I swallowed a bag of concrete.

It reminded me of when I had surgery. The doctors told me to take a stool softener, but I didn't listen. By day three, I was crying and begging Jan for help. The moral of the story is: keep things moving, but don't overdo it. Fiber is not mean, but it is very bossy.

When Food Stops Being About Food

People think we eat snacks because we don't have enough information. They think we are dumb.

We aren't dumb. We know the chips aren't salad.

Snacks aren't about being hungry. They are about feeling better. They are a habit. They are a little bit of crunch when the world is being loud. Telling someone to "just eat better" is like telling a nervous person to "just relax" while tapping them on the shoulder. It doesn't help.

Closing

I’m not confused about my snacks. I’m not ashamed.

I eat salty stuff because it makes a normal day feel better. I eat cookies at night because the day should end with something sweet—even if I didn't deserve it. And I eat fiber in moderation now because I have learned my lesson the hard way.

I like the small things. A sister with a bag of chips. A pillow for a birthday. A warm cookie. Those are the things that stick to you. The charts and the experts don't know me.

My pantry is doing just fine. It’s full of memories and a few bags of air. And my dentist is very happy I keep buying those crunchy Cheetos.

Series: Bad Habits
[1. The Pantry] • [2. The Box]

I am not an expert. I am a generalist. I notice things.