Some people would say that crisp and crispy are essentially the same thing. Others would refer to a crisp as those potato chips that come in packets and are coated with MSG. These sort of people should be hung, drawn and quartered. Not so much for their ignorance than for the fact that they are misusing one of the greatest words in the English language. I’m not alone in this hypothesis; at the 2010 WordSmith Festival in Brooklyn[1], ‘crisp’ was shortlisted in the coveted Words to Watch category amongst the likes of ‘ramekin’, ‘banoffee’ and ‘gunt’.[2]
Crispness is really an intangible concept. Basically, if something brings you great elation for no reason at all, there is a very good chance it is crisp. It’s easier to exemplify. Freshly printed money is crisp; old, tattered money (especially US money) is not. Cold beer is crisp; warm beer is not. But it’s not so simple. Experiences can be crisp themselves. Having the exact change or correctly guessing the time are both pretty crisp.
Some things have a very unstable crispness. An egg, for instance, is reasonably crisp as a smooth, firm and cold object. When it is cracked perfectly and then floats on a well heated, expertly oiled pan and spreads into a CD sized circle with the yolk exactly in the center, then it has lived a very crisp life. Conversely, if you drop it on the floor and step on it with your sock...well that’s obviously a very uncrisp moment.
As amazing as that moment of crispness is, you can’t pursue it too vigorously. You will go mad. Things that are not crisp will disgust you and what’s more, nothing will ever be crisp enough to get through your increasing tolerance. The other day I was sent an envelope that just popped open, no rips whatsoever. Inside was a letter with a cheque attached at a perforated line where it detached with ridiculous ease and then I cashed it at the bank for three fresh $20s and three shiny $2s. It was a very crisp day. The next morning I woke up and had spilled a cup of tea all over my laptop and bed during my sleep and then realised I had no clean towels. The universe has a funny way of balancing things out.
Somebody once asked me what the least crisp thing in the world is. I told them it is a casserole. I’m still reasonably happy with that answer but the other night I lent onto a bar table soaked with beer dregs and cigarette ash and the soggy coasters stuck to my sleeve. The alchemy of so much uncrispness was overwhelming. Maybe if you dropped a casserole onto some shag carpet and the bowl smashed into tiny pieces that would outdo it.
There are no limits to how far this concept can be stretched, but be wary of trying to assess the crispness of everything in your life. Your friends will grow tired of your insane rants and you will be forced to alienate yourself from them, move to another city and spend your days flooding the internet with your bullshit hoping that maybe somebody will find it interesting.
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