Slow Down on Route 11

Tasty chips with an eco-political consciousness? No way!

By Alexandra Walker

The film, "Oysters Guanaca" describes the life of a Salvadoran dishwasher who so relishes the taste of oysters on the half shell that he spends most of his hard-earned money on them for his family.

Not Just for Foodies

Petrini's fit of indignation became an international movement. Today, there are 70,000 Slow Food members in more than 80 countries who work to preserve traditional ways of growing, producing, and preparing food.

Part culinary association, part political movement, Cohen says Slow Food "is still in the process of defining itself." The international Web site (www.slowfood.com) proclaims its members' dedication to the "protection of the right to taste" and extols the "unforgettable" taste of Blenheim apricots and hand-parched wild rice from Minnesota.

In the United States, where it claims 5,000 members and continues to grow, Slow Food convivia focus on the small farmer's plight. The DC convivium, for example, partnered with the American Farmland Trust to preserve farmland.

A Family Affair

When she entered their 2002 film competition, Cohen was already a member of Slow Food. Her membership appears a natural progression for someone raised by environmentally conscious foodies. Since her teens, Cohen worked at her parents' restaurant and hotel, the Tabard Inn (www.tabardinn.com) -- renowned for its gourmet fare and country inn atmosphere.

Long before retailers discovered the marketing potential of labeling food "organic," Cohen's parents, Edward and Fritzie, started a farm in Virginia to supply their restaurant with organic vegetables. In the mid-'80s, they entered the chip business after a neighboring farmer offered them a huge discount on 20 tons of potatoes.

After a stint running an oyster farm and documentary filmmaking, Cohen agreed to help her parents in their new venture. A few false starts later, Route 11 Potato Chips opened in 1992 and eventually moved to a converted feed mill in Middletown, VA, in the Shenandoah Valley.

Route 11 embodies many of the ideas driving the Slow Food movement. Generally, potato chips are reviled as a lowly snack food, but Route 11 makes chips that are to be savored. The DC chapter -- or convivium, as they call it in Slow lingo -- made a field trip last fall to Route 11's factory. Marsha Weiner, chair of the DC convivium, says her group was drawn to Route 11 because of their approach to their product: "Their tag line -- the best things in life are still made by hand -- is a very slow principle: artisan, crafted foods, to maximize taste."

America's Soul Food

"Although there are different factions, what Slow Food doesn't want to be is elitist," says Cohen. Slow Foodies worried about that should claim Route 11 as the movement's poster child. The steady stream of customers who visit the factory store on a bright Saturday morning prove that potato chips -- even for $3 a bag -- are truly food for the people.

"Potato chips appeal to everybody," says Cohen, who considers potato chips "the soul food of our culture."

In an eventful two hours, potato chip connoisseurs from all walks of life appear, proving Cohen correct. The customer's vehicles - a limousine, a GMC truck, and a minivan -- are as diverse as the people within. When characterizing her customer base, Cohen observes,"The spectrum is so wide but the one thing they have in common is that they're discriminating."

Chips of Distinction

Without a doubt, Route 11's success depends on the scrumptiousness of its chips. Prepared in small batches, the traditional kettle cooking process infuses the chips with intense potato flavor. The potatoes are fried in pure, monounsaturated sunflower and peanut oils and then blended by hand with salt and seasonings. Eaten plain, perhaps savored for a second on the tongue before commencing crunching, the chips are so tasty that dip is a mere distraction.

Organically grown Yukon Gold potatoes, which produce a buttery flavor, are the star ingredient in the Yukon Gold potato chip. This variety of chip is sold only six months of each year due to the limited availability of its potatoes.

Several consumer trends also enhance the appeal of Route 11 chips: a growing distaste for foods heavy in saturated fats, an appreciation of organic ingredients, and a desire to support small farms and traditional methods of food production.

It hasn't always been this way. "We started at the height of the fat neurosis," Cohen says of the early 1990s. "I would do demonstrations at Fresh Fields and commiserate with the cheese person. People would be irate at the fat content. They'd get mad that we weren't using Olestra!"

Where's the Beef?

Part of the credit for the newest chip flavor goes to Fast Food Nation -- Eric Schlosser's best-selling exposé of the fast food industry. Before reading Schlosser's grisly account mass-produced beef, Cohen toyed with the idea of a Green Chili Cheeseburger chip, prompted by a memorable meal she had in a New Mexico diner. After Fast Food Nation, though, Cohen was "grossed out at the idea of a cheeseburger" and thus was born the new flavor: Green Chili Enchilada. All vegetarian.

Will this new flavor succeed? Anecdotal data suggests it will, but Route 11 does not "push the product." Route 11 Potato Chips sell themselves. "Our marketing is just answering the phone," she explains.

Cohen notes that conventional business people express disbelief at her success. She is often approached by bigger companies with offers to expand. But Cohen worries that trading for profit would sacrifice the integrity of the business. "I don't want to sacrifice the product in order to grow."

So, what is next for Route 11, if not franchises and marketing deals? After 10 years running the company, Cohen looks forward to more free time. She's thinking of starting another film -- this time setting in it in a small potato chip factory in the Shenandoah Valley.

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In exchange for free bags of Lightly Salted chips, Alexandra Walker happily surrendered any pretense of objectivity toward her subject in this article.