A Review of Doritos Loaded, Which Aren't Really Food
Doritos come in multiple forms and dimensions these days. There's the two dimensional-like flat chip option, which have been Street Tacoed, nacho cheese explosioned, Tapatioed, and, more recently, contorted into the taco dimension. On the taco axis, Doritos is often filled with "beef" and sour cream and stuff.
Now, 7-Eleven scientists are thinking more third-dimensionally: Doritos Loaded exist like 3D triangles in the physical universe with depth and breadth. In Doritos Loaded space-time, like in all life everywhere, a dimension is filled to the brim with American, Romano and cheddar cheese and another is encrusted more Doritos.
I ordered the Doritos Loaded at my local 7-Eleven, where the kind worker offered:
"Want to me to make a fresh batch for you?"
Totally! Can I get some water and fresh bread? Just kidding, right?
"I prefer to make them fresh...much better that way," he said with a smile.
After he nuked them for two minutes, they arrived in a searingly red box. It's a clevery-designed holder, with many entry and exit points to getting the Doritos Loadededs into my dumb face-hole. I drove home with the little angry red box in the center of the passenger seat, wondering if I should seatbelt them in case they shoot forward into the dash. Protect the little guys, you know?
The very rare sight of a Doritos Loaded being born into the wild
First, the Doritos Loaded look like a fried hazard sign, encrusted with Doritos birdfeed. They're scarily-too perfectly triangular and encrusted. Food shouldn't be so perfectly encrusted and golden yellow inside. How do they get those Doritos micro-pellets to be so perfectly round? They scattered on my white kitchen table wildly, like they were trying to escape the lava red box.
Inside, the cheese-blend was melted like a yellow crayon that you left it in your car. It tasted a lot like a school cafeteria mozzarella stick, sans the mozzarella, and each bite made my stomach give warning grumbles. Also, they were not good. At all. I think it's because the Doritos Loaded aren't supposed to be food. They should be other, practical things like:
Kitchen backsplash tiles Roofing Board game pieces Little shot glass coasters
it'd be much more interesting if there was an actual Dorito chip inside of it, like a Doritos space suit. If Taco Bell can stuff anything, so can Frito-Lay.
Continuing on, I hope Doritos can occupy the fourth dimension (time). Doritos: 1776, when opened, would shoot you back in time to the Continental Congress, where you would be instantly written into history.
Get the Dining Newsletter
The week's top local food news and events, plus interviews with chefs and restaurant owners, dining tips, and a peek at our print review.