This bag of pretzel crisps. A thread.


I’ve been working my way through this bag for over a week. It sits on my desk, constantly inviting me to reach in and grab the modern wonder that is the pretzel crisp.
I’ve spent a fair amount of time considering how they’re made. Do they start as regular pretzels and then get smashed down while the dough is still soft? Or do they come from some kind of mold? Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. They are fucking delicious.
I’ve even thought about recreating the unnecessarily fancy recipe pictured on the front. It’s edamame hummus with MORE edamame beans on top. And then a microgreens garnish (I know the specifics because it’s on the back of the bag). But I haven’t. Yet.
Each and every time I start to snack on them, I begin an intense internal battle. “Just a couple more,” I say, only to grab 4 or 5. They make me feel good. The saltiness. The crispiness. The slight…what would you call it? Yeastiness? I don’t know but it’s intoxicating.


And even though I have considered eating the entire bag multiple times, I have somehow been able to stop. To compose myself. To deny myself that pleasure. Why? Because tomorrow, there will be more. And when they inevitably run out, I won’t panic. Not because I can do without them. Because I already have another full bag. A backup bag. Always have a backup bag.