Stupid Nacho Questions, Real Answers

Ask a Stupid Question Day is the perfect excuse to interrogate nachos. Not because they deserve it, but because they raise more ridiculous questions than any other snack on earth. For instance, are the chips on the bottom still nachos, or are they just plates? They sit there, soggy and crushed under the weight of glory, waiting to be noticed. Martyrs of the platter, they are both furniture and food, and eventually desperation will bring them to justice.

Then there is the matter of destiny. If all the cheese slides onto one chip, does that make it the chosen one? Absolutely. That chip is Excalibur, the hero, the one you either eat immediately or argue over like a cheesy custody battle. And while you are distracted, a jalapeño appears out of nowhere to remind you nachos are tricksters. One moment it is melted cheese bliss, the next you are breathing fire and regretting your life choices.

Even toppings get complicated. At what point does sour cream stop being garnish and turn into a flood zone? The answer is simple: the second someone at the table says “just a little.” Suddenly the chips are drowning in dairy and salsa is fighting for its life. And yes, you could grab a fork to manage the mess, but that is nacho cowardice. Nachos are barehanded combat, snack gladiator rules only.

And then there are the existential questions. When the last chip breaks in half, is it one nacho or two? Logically, one. Emotionally, two. You will eat them separately, but everyone knows they never had the dignity of a whole. And does eating nachos alone mean you are snacking, or crying for help? Both. But if crying for help comes with melted cheese, maybe that is the most honest meal of all.

Stupid questions, stupid answers. But nachos deserve to be interrogated, because every chip tells a story, and most of those stories end with cheese on your shirt.