S&V Discos come in a shiny blue packet and are without doubt among the finest crisps in the world. They are not fancy. They are not perfect. They are not even actual slices of potato, rather potatoes that have been pulped with wheat starch and shaped mechanically. But their charm lies entirely in their imperfections.
The production process ends with each Discos crisp circular and an unnatural off-white colour, with some margin of error vis-à-vis their concavity. The tendency towards a hollow curve is beneficial in terms of taste, allowing a greater surface area to be covered with salt and vinegar flavouring than if the crisps were entirely flat. (Some crisp enthusiasts may take issue with the Discos’ otherwise consistent shape and shade, believing this to be less pleasurable than the aesthetic variations found in more naturally-produced brands. So be it. It is not for me to point out they are hobbled by their own pretensions and closed-mindedness.)
Closer examination will reveal another peculiar characteristic specific to Discos that I have yet to witness to the same degree in any other crisp: the amount of flavouring on each Disco is visible to the naked eye. It is quite obvious, looking at each crisp, which is going to be a real corker in terms of vinegar flavour. You will soon understand why this is important.
Biting into a Disco, you will experience an unusually dull crunch (definitely crunchy, as opposed to crispy) that is nevertheless satisfying. Biting into a second, you will note that the amount of flavouring per crisp varies wildly. You must pick your way through a number of average-to-below-average flavoured crisps – sometimes even finding one that is undeniably bland – until you are hit with a vinegar tang unmatched by that of any other product. It is ferocious, almost painful. This is why you buy Discos.
Every time you open a packet of Discos you are chasing the dragon, daring to dream that you can recapture that last hit of vinegary violence and have your face crumple into a divine pucker of masochistic pleasure. You are drawn into a dance of anticipation, examining each crisp before you eat it and gauging the powdery covering on its moon-like surface, learning to recognise the ones that will hurt you that way you love to be hurt. Some packs will have only a few such crisps, but occasionally you will open a treasure trove of citric excess, each mouthful proving more flavourful than the last. Every packet is a gamble, an edible scratch card.
The grand prize is an anomaly that can occur with several brands of crisps, but given the sheer OTT acidity of the flavouring, is far more intense and satisfying with Discos. Rarely, you can experience the phenomenon of Raw Flavouring, which through some freak occurrence in the manufacturing process can make its way into the packet unchecked. It can come in the shape of a crisp, or be hidden away at the bottom of the packet, a deliciously toxic reservoir: clusters of Sodium Diacetate, Salt, Wheat Flour, Potassium Chloride, Sugar, Citric Acid – soft, almost damp powder, disintegrating between your fingers as they probe the corners of the foil like a truffle-starved pig.
Smear it onto your tongue and feel it melt in (and almost certainly damage) your mouth as you are overcome with paroxysms of piquant delight. You will have an epiphany, realising that the reconstituted potato circles and their pedestrian crunch are neither here nor there; that they are merely vessels for extreme flavour and nothing more. You have just experienced the essence of Discos.
KP Snacks do not lie when they write “Big Hittin’ Flava” on their packets. The flavour is huge, and the flaws in the delivery system serve only to heighten the drama of each packet’s consumption. It’s cheap, nasty, and glorious: Discos are a thrilling and delectable game of Russian roulette in which you look forward to blowing your brains out.