(by Barbara Treick)

Let me tell you about a spiritual experience I had in the Johannesburg airport.

No, not enlightenment.
Not a vision.
Not a message from the ancestors.

I discovered Lay’s Sweet & Smoky American BBQ chips — except the South African version, which is apparently made by angels, grill masters, and possibly a very gifted cow.

I’m not exaggerating when I say these chips changed my life.

Here’s the truth:
American BBQ chips are aggressive.
They attack your tongue like they’re trying to settle a personal score.
One handful and your taste buds file a complaint.

But South African BBQ chips?

Oh, my friends.

They are glorious.

They taste like actual beef from an actual grill — smoky, mellow, flavorful without the “blowtorch to the tongue” energy we somehow decided was patriotic in the US.

Eating them felt like someone handed me a tiny bag of braai-flavored joy.

Every chip was like,
“Hello, we would like to offer you a pleasant flavor experience.”
Not:
“PREPARE TO BE ASSAULTED BY VINEGAR, SUGAR, AND REGRET.”

I devoured an entire bag before boarding and was dangerously close to turning around and buying a suitcase full.

Honestly?
I should have.

These chips were a gift.
A revelation.
A crunchy, smoky reminder that sometimes the smallest travel discoveries become the most unforgettable ones.
A much-needed diversion during a seven-hour layover.

So here it is — my official statement:

American BBQ chips are chaos.
South African BBQ chips are poetry.

And I stand by that.