Blue Cheese Potato Chips

Daylight saving. The kids are going to bed at five PM, which is its own form of psychological warfare. Ryan was on duty at Miramar. Standard week.

Caleb, 7, wants to be a firefighter still. Has not deviated. Hazel, 4, chaos incarnate. Put a peanut butter sandwich in the DVD player Wednesday. Showed zero remorse.

Chili Saturday. Beef and beans. Cornbread on the side. Fed everyone for two days.

Mom called Sunday. We talked while she was putting up tomatoes from the garden. She is sixty-something and gardening like she is forty.

Donna would say: dinner at 1800, no exceptions. We did 1800.

I unpacked another box from storage Tuesday afternoon. Three years on this base and I am still finding things I packed in Twentynine Palms. Military-wife archeology — every box is a layer of geological history. I found a ceramic dish from Lejeune still wrapped in newspaper from 2020.

I went to the commissary Saturday morning. Got the grocery haul under sixty bucks for the week, which is a small victory. The cashier knows me. We talked about her grandkids while she scanned the chicken thighs and the family-size box of pasta. Small-town energy on a Marine base in California.

Hazel and I had a hard moment Tuesday at homework time. She is in a season of testing limits. We worked through it. We always do. She is mine.

Ryan went to his counselor Wednesday. He always comes home calmer. I am calm too, just from him being calm. The man Torres was killed with — Ryan calls his wife twice a year on Torres's birthday and the anniversary. The military widows are their own community.

I sat at the kitchen table Tuesday night writing in the journal. Volume 10 now. The handwriting has not gotten neater. The journals are a record of the life I am living, in the moment, in tiny script that I will look back on someday and not be able to read. That is okay. The writing was the thing.

Ryan's friends came over Friday for a beer. I made wings and chips. They demolished both. Standard Marine appetite — they eat like they are still on rations. The kitchen looked like a battlefield by the end. They cleaned up. Marines clean up. Donna would have been impressed.

Ryan came home tired Wednesday. He showered, ate, sat on the couch, was asleep by eight. Standard for a Marine who has been up since four-thirty for PT and stayed late for a brief. The schedule is the schedule. The body adapts because it has to.

Dad called. He has been gardening. He is sending zucchini updates again. The PTSD is managed. He talks more than he used to. He is becoming his own version of healed, which I did not think was possible at fourteen.

Base housing is base housing. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige expectations. The dryer venting is in a stupid place. The kitchen has no dishwasher. We make it work.

The kids' soccer game was Saturday morning. The other parents brought oranges and Capri Suns. I brought a thermos of coffee for myself and a folding chair I bought at Target three years ago that has been to four duty stations now. The chair is a more loyal companion than some of my friends.

I made a casserole for a neighbor whose husband is deployed. I dropped it off. She cried. I told her, eat the casserole, baby. The food is the saying. The casserole was a mostly-frozen tater-tot situation that took fifteen minutes of effort and six months of practice to perfect.

Friday night I made wings and chips for Ryan’s crew and watched four grown Marines reduce the kitchen to rubble in about forty minutes flat — which, honestly, is its own kind of compliment. The chips were the first thing gone, which told me everything I needed to know. I’ve stopped making anything that requires presentation; these blue cheese potato chips are thin, salty, and aggressively good, and they don’t need a garnish or a serving board or any part of me pretending this is a dinner party.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

3 large russet potatoes, scrubbed
3 cups vegetable oil, for frying
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
4 oz blue cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon fresh chives, thinly sliced

Instructions

Slice the potatoes. Using a mandoline or sharp knife, slice potatoes paper-thin — about 1/16 inch. Rinse slices in cold water until water runs clear, then spread on a clean kitchen towel and pat completely dry. Moisture is the enemy of a crispy chip.
Heat the oil. In a heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven, heat vegetable oil over medium-high heat to 350°F. Use a thermometer — the temperature matters here.
Fry in batches. Working in small batches so you don’t crowd the pot, fry potato slices 2–3 minutes, turning occasionally, until golden and crisp. They will continue to crisp slightly as they cool.
Drain and season. Transfer chips to a paper-towel-lined baking sheet. Season immediately with salt, garlic powder, and black pepper while still hot.
Make the blue cheese dip. In a small bowl, stir together sour cream, mayonnaise, white wine vinegar, and half the crumbled blue cheese. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Serve. Pile chips on a platter, scatter remaining blue cheese crumbles over the top, and garnish with chives. Set the dip alongside. Stand back.

Nutrition (per serving)

Blue Cheese Potato Chips — Made for Marines Who Eat Like They’re Still on Rations