The Crunch That Travels

My grandmother kept a tin of plantain chips on the counter in her Kitty kitchen. Not for guests. For herself. She'd slice green plantains paper-thin with a mandoline she'd owned since the seventies, fry them in coconut oil until they sang, then salt them while they were still hot. The tin never lasted the week.

Plantain chips aren't complicated. Three ingredients: green plantain, oil, salt. But the difference between good ones and forgettable ones is in the thickness of the slice and the temperature of the oil. Too thick and they're stodgy. Too thin and they shatter into dust. The oil needs to be hot enough that the plantain sizzles on contact but not so hot that it browns before it crisps.

In Guyana, plantain chips are everywhere now. Packaged in clear bags at Bounty, sold roadside in Parika, stacked in boxes at the airport for people heading out. But the best ones are still made at home. My cousin in Berbice makes hers with a touch of garlic powder and lime zest. My aunt in Queens swears by a pinch of cayenne. Everyone has their version.

The plantain itself matters. It needs to be green, firm, almost hard to peel. Yellow plantains are for frying sweet. Green ones are for this. You peel them under running water to avoid the sap staining your hands, then slice them on the bias or straight across, depending on whether you want ovals or rounds.

Frying happens in batches. Crowding the pot drops the oil temperature and makes the chips greasy. You want them to float, to bubble, to turn pale gold. When they're done, you lift them out with a slotted spoon and drain them on paper towels. Salt them immediately. The salt sticks better when they're hot.

Plantain chips travel well. That's part of why they've become a staple for Guyanese abroad. They don't need refrigeration. They don't bruise. They fit in a suitcase, a care package, a carry-on. I've eaten them in London flats, Toronto offices, New York subway platforms. They taste like home, but they don't demand ceremony. You can eat them with your hands, standing up, mid-conversation.

There's a brand now—Guyana Gold—that exports them to Caribbean shops across North America and the UK. The packaging is slick, the chips are good, but they're not the same as the ones my grandmother made. Hers were irregular, some darker than others, some with a bit more salt. Imperfect in the way that homemade things are.

If you're making them yourself, here's what you need:

Plantain Chips

• 3 green plantains
• Vegetable or coconut oil for frying
• Sea salt to taste

Peel the plantains under running water. Slice them thinly—about 2mm thick—using a mandoline or a sharp knife. Heat oil in a deep pot to 175°C. Fry the plantain slices in small batches until golden and crisp, about 3–4 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Salt immediately while hot. Let cool completely before storing in an airtight container.

They'll keep for a week, if they last that long.