Nachos are great, if executed properly. But at restaurants, they rarely are. Typically, they are appetizer fool’s gold.
Except what do you get when you order the nachos? You get a nacho facade, a shallow veneer. The ingredients that you want: the cheese, the meat, the jalapenos; they only exist on the outermost crust of the enormous pile of tortilla chips on your plate. A cross-section of these nachos looks exactly like the Earth’s cross-section diagram you see in a 5th grade earth science book. The chips are the mantle and the delicious toppings the tiny crust. You begin with chips which are quite satisfying; cheese-covered chips with every ingredient available for a dip. But soon this honeymoon phase fades and you have nothing but a pile of bones and a few scattered toppings to scavenge for. This desperation leads to moving ingredients around with your fingers. Soon your pinching cheese off of one chip and distributing it amongst other chips like field rations.
In my world, constructing a plate of nachos (or bowl if you’re smart) takes care and commitment. Nachos are viewed as something quick and effortless; a meal that could be made by an elementary school student. But this is a treason against nachos! Nachos share the same virtue of many great dishes: proper mixing. Meals are eaten in bites and I want every bite to be as perfect as possible. This means all the various tastes and textures intermingling in my mouth at once. Think on the great dishes of human history: the sandwich, the burrito, spaghetti, pizza, sushi. What do they all share? They are constructed in a way which facilitates the perfect bite. They are feats of engineering.
So word to all restaurants with nachos on the menu: I want layers constructed individually, or just one, completely covered layer. No more of this giant pile of chips BS.