Lactose and Lamentations

There comes a moment in every emotionally unstable snack-lover's life when nothing—and I mean nothing—can fill the void. Except nachos. On a cliff. While bagpipes play something devastating in D minor.

Because sometimes, grief needs cheese.

This particular spiral started innocently enough: a sunset hike, a portable speaker, and a playlist titled “Scottish Sadness (bagpipes only).” But as that first drone hit, so did the memories. Of exes. Of lost pets. Of that time you tried vegan nachos and “gave them a chance.” And like any fully grown adult confronting their feelings, I whipped out a tartan blanket and a perfectly assembled nacho platter.

These weren’t pity chips. These were declaration chips. A baked bed of rosemary and sea salt tortilla triangles, topped with whisky-laced pepper jack, slow-cooked caramelized onions (because tears should have layers), and warm haggis crumbles that say “I’m working through something, thanks.” A mustardy horseradish drizzle added just enough heat to remind me I’m still alive. Barely.

And there I sat, wrapped in flannel, wind howling, eyes leaking—not sure if it was the wind, the bagpipes, or the cheese. Probably all three. But here’s the lesson: emotional vulnerability and nachos are not mutually exclusive. Cry your eyes out. Eat your feelings. And if you find crumbs in your sweater later… that's just seasoning for personal growth.