Leon and the Champion Chip

by Allen Kurzweil

  No way! Leon said to himself. When at last he received a sample, he noticed that the bag was extraordinarily light. He pulled open the seams and peered inside. “Excuse me,” he said. “There’s only one chip in this bag.”

  “Yes,” the man in the black robe replied calmly. “The Zen Chip teaches us to honor the one among the many.”

  Well, I’d rather honor the many among the many, Leon found himself thinking as he grabbed an extra sample bag and moved on to Africa. There he quickly located the two bags he needed—Tim Bucktooth Chips and Malagasy Munchies. He then made his way to Australia. He only needed one bag from there—or rather two, since every bag of Kangaroo Chips came in a flapped pouch containing a second package of chips.

  Leon took a moment to tally his haul. Twelve down. Four to go. The remaining bags would all be found in the South America section.

  The first of those four came easily enough. A man dressed in a leather vest and black hat sidled up to Leon, reached into a saddlebag, and presented him with some Macho Gaucho Nachos.

  “Gracias!” said Leon.

  Thirteen down! Three more to go!

  Leon picked up some Chile Chili Chipotle Chips from a man dressed like a red pepper.

  Fourteen down! Two left!

  A woman wearing a bowler and a brightly woven poncho handed Leon a much-needed bag of Bolivars.

  Fifteen down! One to go!

  It was 10:15. Leon checked his floor plan. The last item on the list—Tierra del Fuego Chips—was supposed to be distributed from a booth near the back of the balcony. But when he reached the spot marked on the map, he found the area deserted. He asked around. No one seemed to know a thing about the absent exhibitor.

  So having bagged fifteen of the sixteen chips, Leon rushed back to the rendezvous point, where he found P.W. and Lily-Matisse checking over their haul.

  “We got all except one,” Lily-Matisse announced. “The Rhode Island booth ran out of samples. How’d you do?”

  “Same,” said Leon. “All but one. Tierra del Fuego was a no-show.”

  “It’s not the end of the world,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “No,” said P.W. “Antarctica is.”

  “Very funny,” said Leon.

  “I still say twenty-four out of twenty-six is pretty good,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “Getting the final two would’ve been better,” said Leon.

  “Tell you what,” P.W. said. “You guys head over to the hotel. I’ll scout around here a little longer and try to snag the missing brands.”

  “Makes sense,” said Leon.

  Five minutes later Lily-Matisse and Leon were back in the Trimore Towers coffee shop, setting up a testing area on the tabletop of a corner booth.

  Leon whipped out his notebook, coins, and a pencil. “How much time do we have?” he asked.

  “If we leave here at eleven forty-five, you’ve got about an hour,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “With twenty-six different chips that means …” Leon made a quick calculation. “I’ve got about two minutes a chip.”

  “Plus a little,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “Okay, then,” said Leon. “Here’s what we’ll do. You prescreen for doubles, group the bags by basic flavor, and keep me posted on the time.”

  “What about blind taste tests?”

  Leon shook his head while reaching for a bag. “Not enough time.”

  The analysis started off pretty well. Leon completed the first five write-ups in under eight minutes.

  “Keep going,” said Lily-Matisse. “You’re ahead of schedule.”

  But after twenty minutes of munching, Leon’s taste buds began to play tricks on him. By the time P.W. arrived, Leon was clearly in trouble.

  “So did you find the missing brands?” Lily-Matisse asked as P.W. scooted into the booth.

  “That’s a negative,” he said.

  Leon glanced up from an untested Macho Gaucho Nacho. “Who cares,” he said despairingly. “I won’t even be able to finish testing the chips I have.”

  “Sure you will,” said P.W. “Take a breather from tasting and chart the new crinkle cuts.”

  Leon took the advice and entered profile data on two saw blades, a shark tooth, and a crenel.

  The break proved helpful. Leon got a second wind, and by eleven-thirty he was back up to speed. “Eighteen chips analyzed,” he said. “Eight to go.”

  At 11:40 Lily-Matisse said, “Maybe we should start packing up.”

  “What’s the rush?” said P.W. “We still have five minutes.”

  Leon kept tasting and scribbling.

  At 11:43 Emma Zeisel came by to wish her son good luck one last time.

  “He’s doing some last-minute cramming,” Lily-Matisse explained.

  “So I can see,” said Emma Zeisel.

  “He’s got six more chips to go,” said P.W.

  Emma Zeisel looked at the coffee shop cuckoo clock. “Shouldn’t you guys skedaddle?”

  Leon kept munching and scribbling.

  An alarm buzzer beeped on P.W.’s wristwatch.

  “Eleven forty-five,” Lily-Matisse said urgently. “The Chip-Off starts in fifteen minutes.”

  Leon reached for another bag.

  At 11:49 P.W. said, “T minus eleven minutes and counting. Okay, Leon. Time. Let’s pack it in.”

  “Listen to P.W.,” Lily-Matisse pleaded. “You’ll be disqualified if you arrive late.”

  “Two more,” Leon said. He continued to test, taste, and take notes.

  “Eleven fifty-five,” P.W. hollered. “Let’s move it, Leon!”

  Leon shook his head. “One more bag,” he said stubbornly.

  Emma Zeisel reached over and closed her son’s bulging notebook just as he finished documenting the last chip. “Time’s up, sweetie. Like it or not, you’ll have to let the chips fall where they may.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  The Chip-Off (Round One)

  Leon, Lily-Matisse, and P.W. raced through the lobby of Trimore Towers on their way to the Chip-Off just as a deliveryman was arriving with a large bundle of eucalyptus leaves.

  Lily-Matisse and Leon both ducked to avoid the long leafy stems. P.W. wasn’t so swift.

  THWOMP!

  Branches spilled across the hotel’s shag carpeting like so many giant pickup sticks.

  “You okay?” Lily-Matisse asked P.W., who lay sprawled out on the carpet.

  “I’m fine,” he grumbled, more annoyed than hurt by the fall.

  Emma Zeisel arrived on the scene moments later. “Leave it,” she said. “The koalas will be checking in soon. I’m sure they’ll take care of it.”

  Leon hesitated.

  “Vamoose,” his mother commanded.

  “T minus one minute and thirty-six seconds!” P.W. hollered as they bounded up the steps of the convention center. But they hit a bottleneck at the FEAST WITHOUT FEAR banner, where hundreds of new arrivals, grazing on free chips, blocked the way.

  P.W. pulled out the floor plan and studied it intently. “Shazam!” he cried. “There’s a faster route. Follow me!” He led the way through a fire door leading down a corridor that bypassed the convention floor. They were halfway to the auditorium when P.W.’s wristwatch started beeping. “Twelve o’clock high!” he yelled. “Activate turbochargers!”

  “Twelve … oh … two,” P.W. panted as he opened the door to the auditorium stage, “… and … thirty … four … seconds.”

  Leon rushed over to the sign-in desk.

  “Too late,” said the official handling registration. He reinforced the decision by snapping shut a thin yellow ledger.

  Leon knew he needed to do something, and he needed to do it fast. He looked the official over while catching his breath. The man was short and round and clearly took more than a professional interest in potato chips. The official’s name tag attracted Leon’s attention.

  “Are you the Fergus O’Hare?” he asked.

  “Do you know another Fergus O’Hare?” the official said stiffly.

 
; “Guys,” said Leon. “This is the Fergus O’Hare.”

  “Yeah,” said P.W. “We kind of got that.”

  “Mr. O’Hare,” said Leon, “is the author of the Official Potato Chip Encyclopedia. He’s like the William Shakespeare of potato chips.”

  “They should name a potato chip after you,” said P.W.

  “They really should,” Lily-Matisse seconded.

  Fergus O’Hare tried not to smile. “Now let’s not exaggerate. You’re just saying that because I am judging this year’s Chip-Off.”

  “No, I’m not,” Leon insisted. “You’re a legend, Mr. O’Hare. Former chief of the Potato Division of the Department of Agriculture. Currently executive director of the Potato Chip Council and the All-State Potato Chip Association.”

  Fergus O’Hare’s cheeks turned the color of a red-skinned potato. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

  “Of course he has,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “But you know what I remember most of all, Mr. O’Hare?” said Leon.

  “No, what?”

  “That you started the Worldwide Chip of the Month Club. That’s what got me hooked on chips, and why I want to enter the Chip-Off—if you’ll let me.”

  “Hmm.” Fergus O’Hare began to waver. “I suppose an exception might be made.” Leon remained silent, until at last the judge reopened his ledger. “Name?”

  “Zeisel comma Leon,” said Leon.

  “Here you go, Zeisel comma Leon,” said Fergus O’Hare, presenting him with a competitor’s badge.

  “Thank you very much,” said Leon. He moved away from the sign-in desk before the judge could change his mind and headed for the front of the auditorium to inspect the stage. It was large and brightly lit, furnished with three rows of folding chairs and a podium, plus a microphone planted front and center. The only decoration was a circular ASPCA seal, which hung down from the ceiling.

  “Hey,” said P.W. “Check out the guy with the nose plug.” He pointed at an enormous man.

  “He makes Lumpkin look like a chopstick,” said Lily-Matisse.

  Leon shuddered when he saw that the man wore a competitor’s badge. “That can only be one guy.”

  P.W.’s eyes widened. “You mean …”

  “Yup,” said Leon. “Alphonse Cipollini.”

  “The Chippopotamus?” said Lily-Matisse.

  “In the flesh,” said Leon.

  “In the flesh is right,” said P.W.

  “Uh, guys,” said Lily-Matisse. “Do you see who’s standing behind him?”

  Leon looked more closely. “Oh, super,” he said when he spotted the crisp white lab coat.

  Fergus O’Hare stepped up to the microphone and gave it a couple of taps. “Testing. Testing. One, two, three. Would the Chip-Off contestants please take their places.”

  After Leon and the other entrants had seated themselves, and the audience had quieted down, Fergus O’Hare approached the podium and went over the rules. The Chip-Off would consist of two parts. The first part, an elimination round modeled on a spelling bee, would test the contestants’ knowledge of potato chip facts. Once the field narrowed to three, there would be a brief intermission, followed by the Flavor Awareness Test—also known as the FAT round.

  “Study guides, instruments of measure, and notes are only permitted in the FAT portion of the event,” Fergus O’Hare noted. “So I ask that all contestants put such materials aside until after intermission. Now let’s get started.

  “Round one. First question. What are the three basic ingredients of the potato chip?”

  Leon relaxed. He knew the answer cold.

  The first contestant, a spice mixer from San Francisco, approached center stage and provided her answer succinctly: “Salt, oil, and potatoes.”

  “Correct,” said Fergus O’Hare. “Please reclaim your seat. Question number two. Who is generally credited with inventing the potato chip?”

  The second contestant, a chip bag manufacturer from Minneapolis, walked to the middle of the stage and said, “Crump.”

  Fergus O’Hare tapped a bell. Bing! “Incorrect. Please leave the stage. Will the next contestant answer the last question?”

  Alphonse Cipollini heaved himself off two seats and lumbered up to the mic.

  “The proper response to the query ‘Who invented the potato chip?’ is George CRUM—not Crump. Often described as a Native American—though opinions regarding his ethnicity remain divided—Mr. Crum is said to have fried the world’s very first potato chip in 1853, at Moon’s Lake House, an elegant establishment located in Saratoga Springs, New York.”

  “That is correct, Mr. Cipollini,” said Fergus O’Hare. “But I must ask that you keep your answers brief.”

  Alphonse Cipollini nodded and returned to his seats.

  Three more contestants approached the microphone before Leon got his shot. All three got stumped, and were thus eliminated, by the same question: “What is the Spanish term for ‘potato chip’?”

  “Papas fritas,” Leon answered.

  Fergus allowed himself to smile. “That is correct, Zeisel comma Leon.”

  By the end of the first packet of questions, the field had narrowed to fifteen. Four more competitors bit the dust during the second set. Another six got the bing! in the third.

  That left only five survivors, and Leon was one of them.

  The questions got tougher as the competition progressed. The first of the five remaining competitors—a potato farmer from Beaver Head—was eliminated after flubbing the question “In what country are curry, consommé, and soy sauce-flavored chips most popular?”

  Leon was next up.

  “Would the contestant like me to repeat the question?” asked Fergus O’Hare.

  Leon nodded and used the time to consider the possibilities. Curry-flavored chips sell well in India, he told himself. Then again, soy sauce chips are a huge seller in Japan. Consommé chips—where are they eaten?

  Leon couldn’t remember.

  “The contestant will please provide a response,” Fergus O’Hare said formally.

  Leon hesitated. Japan or India? … India or Japan?

  Fergus O’Hare cleared his throat and reached for the elimination bell. His hand was poised above the plunger when Leon blurted out his answer.

  “Japan?”

  “Correct!” said Fergus O’Hare.

  The crowd, led by two particularly feisty fifth graders, clapped loudly. The contest continued.

  “Mr. Cipollini,” said Fergus O’Hare. “Where is the world’s biggest potato chip company headquartered?”

  “What do you mean by biggest? Do you wish the location of the company that makes the most potato chips? Or the location of the company that makes the biggest chips?”

  “The location of the company that makes the most chips,” Fergus O’Hare specified.

  “That would be Plano, Texas.”

  “Correct,” said Fergus O’Hare.

  Alphonse Cipollini returned to his seats.

  “Mr. Furtles,” said Fergus O’Hare. “You are up. Who is credited with inventing the mechanical potato peeler?”

  “Herman Lay,” said Idaho Furtles.

  “Correct.”

  “Ms. Wilkenson,” said Fergus O’Hare. “On what date do we celebrate National Potato Chip Day?”

  Wanda Wilkenson, founder of the Snack Shaque chain of gourmet shops and treasurer-elect of the ASPCA, stared at the microphone for the better part of a minute.

  “April fourteenth?” she said at last.

  Bing! “That is incorrect,” said Fergus O’Hare. “Will the next contestant please answer the question.”

  Leon walked up to the mic. “Two days from now,” he said. “March fourteenth.”

  “Correct!” said Fergus O’Hare. “We have our final three contestants!”

  Over the applause of the audience, the judge said, “After a ten-minute break, Mr. Furtles, Mr. Cipollini, and Mr. Zeisel will be competing in the Flavor Awareness Test to determine the winner of this year
’s Chip-Off!”

  THIRTY

  The Chip-Off (Round Two)

  Leon hopped off the stage, happy and even proud to have survived the first round of the Chip-Off. Lily-Matisse and P.W. rushed up to him.

  “You murderized the competition!” said P.W. “That thousand bucks is as good as ours!”

  “Don’t jinx things,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “Lily-Matisse is right,” said Leon. “Furtles and the Chippo are going to be super tough to beat. Plus I got lucky during the first round. I almost blew that soy sauce question.”

  “But you didn’t,” said P.W.

  “How’d you know about Potato Chip Day?” asked Lily-Matisse.

  “That one was easy,” said Leon. “Don’t you remember what Sparks told us?”

  “No,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “March fourteenth isn’t just Potato Chip Day.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Nope,” said Leon. “It’s also Einstein’s birthday.”

  “Well, thank you, Albert Einstein!” P.W. exclaimed.

  “And thank you, Mr. Sparks,” said Leon.

  While the crowd milled about, a pair of stagehands made preparations for round two. They removed all but four of the folding chairs—one for Idaho Furtles, one for Leon, and two for Alphonse Cipollini. They then set up three card tables and supplied each with a bottle of water, a scratch pad, and a pencil. Once that was done, the stagehands rolled out a heavy metal cabinet and positioned it next to the judge’s podium.

  “That must be where O’Hare stores the quiz chips,” P.W. speculated.

  “It is,” said Leon. “I read about it in the Encyclopedia. It’s a modified tool cabinet, like the kind mechanics use.”

  The stagehands positioned a large wooden partition around the cabinet and put a box of rubber gloves and a stack of paper chip boats on the judge’s podium.

  With that, the stage was set for round two.

  “Will the three finalists please approach,” said Fergus O’Hare.