• by Thom Forbes  @tforbes, January 12, 2011

If you'd told me in September 1997, when I was co-founding Tower Ridge Poker Cronies, that I would someday put out Blue Ginger Multi-Grain Brown Rice Chips with Black Sesame & Sea Salt instead of something like Lay's (sumptuously salty) Classic potato chips or Wise's (delightfully greasy) as one of the evening's featured snacks, as I did last week at our regular convocation of mirth and games that bear little resemblance to real poker, I would have asked you what frou-frou universe you played cards in. But there I was, serving them up along with the Kirkland Roasted & Salted Peanuts, Kirkland Almonds, Dubliner Cheese, Dare Breton Multigrain Crackers, imported Spanish Clemetines, Gala apples, and someone's organic bananas last Wednesday.

And how did they go over, you ask?

"They're kind of good in that lack-of-any-flavor kind of way," said the Professor of Health Sciences. Reverse translating into academese, I believe that's a qualified positive assessment with certain caveats, which is about as good as it gets.

The front of the package avers that this "light & crispy blend of brown rice, corn & oats" is a "good source of fiber"; "has 70% less fat than the leading regular potato chips"; "delivers only 110 calories per 33 chips" (that would be about 1,540 calories in a full 14-serving, 14-ounce bag, which would take about an hour and thirty-eight minutes of robust singles racquetball with the Professor of Health Sciences to burn off, but who's counting? Or eating that much?)

"You really believe that crap?" said the Very Early Retiree who travels the world between low-stakes games of chance after having sold his founding stake in a market research company.

"Well," I had to sheepishly admit. "Yes, I did." And who wouldn't?

On the back of the package is a photo of a cheery-looking chap in pristine chef's garb whose exquisitely rendered cursive signature, Ming Tsai, carries a ® mark. So too, does a symbol just above it that looks like a fat period followed by a paunchy end-parenthesis symbol. Trained observer that I am, those ®s were a clue that there was more to this Tsai than enticing packaging.

A three-paragraph bio, in fact, reveals that Tsai founded Blue Ginger restaurant in [Wellesley] Massachusetts and believes that "healthier" choices don't necessarily "have to lack taste" and that "nutritious can be delicious."

You may be muttering that I'm about a dozen years behind the times, and I'm almost embarrassed to admit, as someone who actually enjoys cooking, that I'm a celebrity-chef ignoramus. A food writer friend tells me that Tsai was one of the first famous faces of Asian cookery after he launched a show on PBS in the early '90s. "Simply Ming" is now back for its eighth season. Another writer tells me that while he's not the current "rage," his restaurant still seems to be popular and well reviewed.

A Google search, in fact, reveals that Tsai was also one of the 10 contestants on The Food Network's most recent "The Next Iron Chef" contest last fall. The winner was Marc Forgione over Marco Canora in a Thanksgiving dinner cook-off, but the people's choice was Tsai, who garnered 26% of the popular vote on the Internet. The two finalists only got 4% each, which tells us that Tsai's personality must be full of calories.

Tsai also has a very impressive background, starting with prep school at Phillips Academy, a mechanical engineering degree from Yale and a summer at Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris. So how did he get into the business of mass-producing snacks?

By partnering with Kellogg Sales Co. of Battle Creek, Mich., it turns out. It says so in small print on the back of the package just above the Whole Grain stamp issued by the WholeGrainsCouncil.org. Unlike Ben & Jerry, who famously thumbed their noses at the Big Guys for years before literally (and admittedly) selling out, this was a meeting of boutique and humongous from the get-go.

My message? Keep doing what you're doing, the both of you. It's working. Now that I know a little bit about Ming Tsai, I will surely try some of his recipes; perhaps even catch a show or two.

And all that talk about less fat and more fiber on the package, supported by a sincere-looking chef on the back, influences even the most cynical among us, like me, when we're racing through the aisles in ways that a Kellogg's logo doesn't. We assume someone out there wouldn't let you say all these great things about the product if you couldn't and, if you do say it, that it must mean something important. I mean, who among us doesn't need a little more black sesame in their lives?