Observing Knife-and-Fork Nachos

I once watched someone eat nachos with a knife and fork. Not as a joke. Not ironically. Just calmly, like this was a normal thing they’d done before and would do again.

They cut each chip deliberately. Scooped toppings with precision. There was no urgency. No reaching. No collapse panic. It wasn’t wrong in any measurable way — the food was going where it was supposed to go. But something about it felt off, like watching someone clap on the wrong beat and never notice.

What surprised me most was how patient it all was. Nachos are usually eaten with momentum. With acceptance that things will fall apart. This was careful. Restrained. Almost polite. The nachos didn’t fight back, but they didn’t seem grateful either.

I didn’t say anything. It didn’t feel like my place. Some things aren’t meant to be corrected — just observed, quietly filed away, and remembered later when you’re eating nachos the usual way and feel oddly relieved.