The Nacho Paradox

There’s a universal truth that science refuses to acknowledge: the best nacho on the plate never looks like the best nacho. It’s misshapen, slightly burnt, maybe hiding under a glob of something you can’t identify. And yet, it’s the one that delivers transcendence.

Perfect nachos — the ones you build carefully, photograph proudly, and eat politely — are always disappointing. Too neat. Too stable. Nachos aren’t supposed to behave. They exist to collapse, to leak, to betray. Their glory lies in their failure.

That’s the paradox. The worse they look, the better they are. Every chip that breaks is a reminder that joy comes from chaos, not control. Cheese shouldn’t obey geometry. Jalapeños shouldn’t align themselves neatly. A good nacho platter is a small act of rebellion — proof that perfection tastes bland, and that sometimes the mess wins.

So if you ever find yourself staring at a plate that looks like a crime scene, congratulations. You’ve achieved true nacho enlightenment.