Nachos? Not Mine Either.

The following advertisement in this month's Real Simple magazine almost drove me to profanity. It's a big two-page spread that refuses to be ignored, and proclaims without a trace of shame, "What's the key to great nachos? Hint: not the lettuce", followed by some horn-tooting about Kraft's skills at making cheese. I nearly choked on my own sense of revulsion.

Good gracious no, the secret is certainly NOT lettuce! Nor is the secret to a great bouillabaisse the addition of persimmons. Who in their right mind would ever dream of bringing such a culinary mismatch to life? Now I'm not a recipe fundamentalist; I think riffing on established recipes is a great way to invite culinary serendipity. Having said that, I cannot let the suggestion of lettuce persist as an unpunished assault on my beloved nacho. Let's look back at what nachos really are:


Ignacio Anaya, chef at the Victory Club in Piedras Negras, Mexico, a stone's throw across the Rio Grande from Eagle Pass, Texas, gave his name to this dish that we now take for granted (In Spanish, 'nacho' is a diminutive form of Ignacio). Concocted in 1943 in response to a late-night shortage of ingredients for a visiting group of American women, Ignacio's first eponymous dish was simple, and a product of the Tex-Mex blend of tastes undoubtedly as familiar to him as it was during my upbringing in Texas. It consisted of wedges of corn tortilla fried in oil until crispy, sharp cheddar cheese, and slices of pickled jalapeño. It's blindingly simple, but that's why it works. 

There are no cold ingredients here to lessen the gooey-ness of the sharp tangy cheese or to make the chips soggy. There are no wet slimy tomatoes, no beans, and no guacamole. Neither of those additions would be as nonsensical as lettuce, but nor would they allow a completely undistracted nacho experience. The secret to good nachos is to spare them the bounty of the garden, to let the components sing loudly on their own. The bite of the jalapeños cuts through the fattiness of the cheese, and the addictive crunch of this dish comes solely from the fried corn chips; no vegetal addition is necessary. The lack of greenery may elicit accusations of unhealthfulness, to which I must also point out that nachos are, as should be evident to anyone with the faintest notion of nutrition, not a meal. They are a delightful late night snack, and have nothing to gain from lettuce.

I'm not sure where Kraft's mutant Midwestern interpretation of Tex-Mex has come from, but I'll be quite happy to see it return, never to reveal itself again. One cannot simply dump a mound of dip materials onto a pile of chips and call it nachos - such a misguided casserole might appeal to some poor neglected palates, but it is no nacho.