Did you know that Pringles come in seaweed flavor? I didn’t either, but they’re bright green with a tomatoish aftershock. My husband likes them, in fact two days ago he intentionally bought tomato flavored off-brand Pringles, offering them around as we all took a single nibble and handed them back in silent agreement that some things are just fundamentally wrong. He gleefully devoured the whole can, equating them to the goat milk shampoo he bought on his mission in Brazil because it was the only one so cheap that none of his companions would steal it.

Dumplings are better than Pringles, but you have to pop them whole in your mouth and let the juice burn your tongue while you try to chew what feels like an entire apple in a single chomp. We tried a more genteel approach at first, delicately holding the benign-looking balls between our chopsticks and taking a normal bite, never dreaming that the juice is held against its will and capable of Olympic take-off. At dinner Chase looked at Abby totally seriously, “If you’re going to eat that, could you please aim it at Porter.”

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