Nah-chos

There are days for passion. For zest. For crafting the perfect nacho tower with precision-drizzled crema and hand-shaved cotija. And then there are Nah-chos.

Nah-chos are the snack equivalent of showing up to life in pajama pants and emotionally detaching from your to-do list. The chips are from an open bag you found behind the cereal. The cheese is maybe shredded, maybe a slice torn by hand. The toppings? Whatever was on the fridge door and didn’t smell like betrayal. It’s not a recipe. It’s a mood.

You don’t bake Nah-chos — you microwave them. You don’t plate them — you eat them straight off the paper towel, using another paper towel as a makeshift oven mitt. They’re uneven, slightly sad, and weirdly comforting. Because sometimes, trying feels like too much. And that’s okay.

So here’s to the Nah-chos. For when enthusiasm is a distant memory, but cheese is still a friend. They’re not good. They’re not bad. They’re just… there. And honestly? That’s enough.