If you’re anything like me (and I’m going to assume that you are), eating nachos should always be a solitary experience. Not solitary in an “eat them alone naked with your cat” kind of way,* but solitary in a “please keep your hands off my special food experience” kind of way.
Eating nachos properly requires planning and careful execution, and it just takes one hungry, manners-less friend to blow it all to hell. For starters, nachos are not a sandwich. There’s a flow. You don’t get all the goodies in all the bites; you have to portion them out, make trades and swaps as you go, and work through some sub-par mouthfuls in preparation for the really good ones. Did you just have a naked, kind of soggy chip soaked in bean juice? That’s okay. If you’ve planned it out right, there’s going to be a mouthgasm of guacamole and salsa and cheese in the near future.
But eat nachos around other people, and they somehow think it’s fine to grab some for themselves, which inevitably screws you, the nacho master, over. Fuck you guy, I’ve been looking forward to that tasty cheese-laden mouthful for minutes. And do not scoop all the guacamole out of the middle. THAT’S WHERE I’M SAVING IT FOR THE UNDERNEATH-EVERYTHING-AND-MISSED-ALL-THE-TOPPINGS CHIPS, YOU TOOL.
I don’t even know how you’re supposed to navigate nachos as an appetizer. I feel like that’s a good way to break up with someone, because what is more brutal than ruining someone’s nacho flow? Not much, guys. Not much.
” Todd took every bite of cheese on those things. And he kept licking his fingers. I guess it’s over.”
*Mad props if you actually do this.
Featured photo courtesy of ammanteufel/Flickr