JUSTIN BIEBER AND HIS BALD CHO: ONE YEAR ON

This time last year, Justin Bieber became a walking advert for nachos. Except what we’re seeing here is a bald cho plain served with taramasalata and washed down with Persil. Great, Bieber, undo all our hard work and promote baldness to your legions of fans. Check the glossary if terms such as “bald cho plain” are confusing you. If “taramasalata” is giving you issues, Google it. I’m not Sharon Britannica.

No it’s not breaking news but it’s Justin Bieber with some nachos. You can print it out and stroke it, crying, or whatever you people do when faced with a rap moppet drinking diluted washing powder.

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The Jalapeno Cafe

Oh look, it’s a positive review! Not of nachos, obviously, but of this damn hot recipe website I came across while casually googling “jalapenos”. Yes, I am single. But if I wasn’t, you’d never be introduced to The Jalapeno Cafe.

It’s the act of arranging, and lack of cooking, that makes the cho such a fine dish for those who fear, yknow, hobs. However, once in a while it becomes necessary to cook something– a dinner party for example- and seventeen plates of nachos doesn’t cut it.

Hey friends, I’ve casually whipped up some scrummy enchiladas. Oh and the ultimate quesadilla to start us off. And a Texan Cheese Log. That last one sounds odd but you’ll be laughing on the other side of your odd face after eating one. In a good way.

Additionally, The Jalapeno Cafe have come up with some Nacho Improvers- we’re talking homemade salsa, people. Not the stuff in a tin. MADE IN YOUR HOME. OR SOMEONE ELSE’S HOME. I’m no chef, but Incredible Salsa pretty much blew my mind out through my eyes and into the next person’s mouth.

Ultimate London Nacho: Desperados

Place: Desperados, Islington

You know it’s going to be good when you’re drinking a cocktail called The Cactus Banger and there’s a boot stuck on the wall.

Desperados looks someone blew up a sombrero and thought they’d accessorise with a few tables. It’s great. There’s a massive wagon wheel outside and everything. The chos were £3.99 which are the cheapest yet, and you know what? There was not one bald cho. Not even a small one with a receding hairline. 

They used a Spreading Technique which was a surprisingly intelligent move for a place where waiters didn’t understand the phrase “do you mind if I have my main meal without Chorizo?” For those not au fait with the Spreading Technique, it involved the chos being spread on a flat plate as opposed to piled high in a bowl. Which looks impressive, but tastes like Bald.

Clumping? Does a sombrero shit on the pope? No. There was no clumping or cheese adhesive as it hadn’t been microwaved and the guac was staggering. Chunky like the thighs of an oiled Chippendale dancer (dated reference) and contributing to what was a perfect ratio of soured cream to salsa to guac to penos. It’s difficult coming up with affectionate nicknames for Jalapenos that aren’t reminiscent of male genitalia. 

The one complaint I had was perhaps there was too much relish. I know, it’s like picking holes in God here, but knives and forks were necessary. Surely the point of nachos is that it’s a hands-on situation. 

Aside from this small gripe, the whole nacho experience was brilliant. Dimly lit utterly mental and tacky environment, beautifully executed chos, and wall mounted footwear. Nacho Times recommends this highly.

Ultimate London Nacho? Restored my faith in London Nachos. Those chos were the strongest contender for Ultimate London Nacho yet. 4.5/5 

Salsa substitutions

While candid chos are often the way forward when sat alone with nothing to do but assemble ingredients on a plate, said ingredients can be hard to come by.

You’ve got the chos. You’ve got cheese. You’ve got sour cream. You’ve even got guac. Unfortunately, you’ve dropped the salsa out the window in a fit of rage. And it’s a Sunday so you can’t even pop out and grab some (this is a very specific scenario, but it has happened to someone somewhere)

Luckily, here is a handy guide to how to substitute salsa. Get prepared to go utterly mental.

  • Pasta sauce You know, like Dolmio or that one with the monochromatic man wearing a bowler hat (other brands, and headgear, are available) If you’ve got some chilli spice, add that for a bit of a mouth party or alternatively go naked. And then use the pasta sauce without any flavouring.
  • Ketchup I disagree with this, but it’s been brought to my attention that some lunatics don’t mind this. Approach with caution.
  • Homemade salsa Very simple to make provided you have cans of chopped tomatoes. Mainly because the recipe consists of a can of chopped tomato.
  • Actual chopped tomato But not in a can. Two free, liberated tomatoes chopped using whichever knife you deem fit.
  • Baked beans It sounds offensive, but it actually works. Think refried beans but not refried. 
  • A bit of astroturf Just checking you’re attention span.
Alternatively, sign up to anger management classes and/or keep all windows permanently closed. 

How Not To Make Guacamole (or: Guacamoleurrgh)

Last night the Nacho Times decided to have a bash at making guacamole. Without a recipe.

A direct quote from a nearby observor sums it up: “You know when people say, ‘eurgh that looks like sick’? Well that actually does. I mean, I’ve never seen anything that looks so utterly like sick.”

It turned out to have a charming pan-Mexican flavour, and I enjoyed the huge wodges of avocado, but it definitely wasn’t Guacamole. It was GuacaNO.

Recipe for GuacaNO (best accompanied with Notchos, due to overwhelming chunks and bizarre appearance)

Ingredients:

  • 4 avocadoes. Preferably overripe with brown sections that can be cut off and accidentally merged with the good sections anyway.
  • Half a lemon because you don’t have any lemon juice.
  • A lot of salsa (no I can’t convert this into ounces, I’m metric)
  • A clove of garlic added by someone before they consulted you on the matter (to which you would have responded: “er no, you nefarious lunatic, half a clove will do thanks”
  • A bit of mayonnaise.

Process:

Sort of put it all in a bowl and attempt to mash it with a fork. Then give up and try poking it a bit with a knife. Then smoosh it with a large tumbler until smooth/your arm hurts/you can’t be bothered anymore/you resign yourself to the fact that it will always look this colour. Which is, if you’re interested, the shade of tree sap mixed with sewage. And dead frog. And moss.

Unfortunately, there is no accompanying image. This is, genuinely, the closest resemblance:

 

 Except this is worthy blogger fatcyclist.com’s attempt at guacamole. And it looks a lot nicer than ours.

Doritos Nacho Cheese Sauce

Yes, it’s been on the shelves for a while now, but it nicely kicks off a new running feature we’re going to call: HELLO, I’M ON YOUR NACHOS (reviewing all the things you can, well, put on your nachos)

Kicking off proceedings is the Nacho Cheese Dip from Doritos (£1.98 from ASDA)

Why bother opening two separate sauces and grating some cheese when you can use just one? Just one artery clogging, everything-mixed-in-together death sauce? Doritos are flogging this all-in-one “nacho cheese” sauce, presumably for the incredibly lazy, or arm-less. Except you still have to open it, so perhaps for those with chronic arm fatigue.

It’s not actually a death sauce, it’s  quite nice. However at Nacho Times we do not believe that the Big Four can be condensed into just one. Or compromised in any way. That’s why we recommend you use Nacho Cheese Dip in place of your usual soured cream, guacamole, or as an addition to all four.

As an addition, it’s fine. I mean, it tastes as artificial and vaguely bizarre as any liquid cheese poured into a tub and flavoured with nondescript mexican spices is going to taste. But it’s quite tasty in small quantities. Just don’t get overly excited or anything.