The thing about nachos that kills me (like, literally, physically) is the cheese and sour cream.
But I think we all know by now that I would never let a little discomofort get in the way of a good time. And so I zeroed in on the Mexican appetizer as soon as I stepped in line for the cashier at Grey Dog cafe. I was there spending time with Philzie on his last day in New York before jetting back to Singapore. He was trying to consume as many bagels and slices of pizza as he could before boarding.
As we lingered, chatting about film, writing, travel and dating, I was pleased to find that my nachos never got soggy. You know how that goes. It's the biggest buzzkill to excavate the center of a pile of tortilla chips, beans and chili only to find the center has disintegrated into mushy cornmeal, am I right? ¡Ay, caramba!
But these nachos had beeen structured in such a way as to prevent textural disappointments. For one, they were arranged on the plate in a single layer, so that the bottom chip was also the top. And, while the cheese was plentiful enough to bind the tortilla to middle layers of jalapeño and black beans, someone had thoughtfully sprinkled chopped tomato on top instead of in between—and left the tomatillo salsa and sour cream on the side—so there was less overall water damage.
Whoever was the architect of that dish deserves a design award. It remained crispy down to the very last bite.
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