Elation rarely visits an office with cubicles, pod coffee makers, and barking bosses. Yet elation swung by our corporate cove when we received an email with the subject line: “Today is National Nachos Day!!!” Despite work being a stern captain on this glorious day, we stowed our lunches in the community fridge and hit a nearby place that featured the honored dish: Slattery’s on 36th Street.
Inside the nice yet typically appointed Irish tavern we reviewed the Greek diner-inspired menu-pedia at the bar that soon instigated an exasperated “gruffle” from my co-pilot. And I would understand why…the Nachos Grande included “spicy beef.” Our ardor for choosing this place to celebrate National Nachos Day left us faster than a curry fart at a Frebreeze family reunion. But being nachos professionals who were about to eat nachos of this most holiest of nachos days, we suspended our judgement until nachos met with mouth.
Needless to say, our fears were confirmed. It was a good-size platter with two crucial ingredients coming in condiment cups. Not sure what the sour cream and salsa did to piss off the cook, but sending it to the plastic outpost only punishes its audience. We’re working men…don’t make us do more work! Fresh guacamole with garlic gave us hope but that was squandered after the store-bought chips started doing dropkick murphys in our mouth.
Most annoying to us connoisseurs of this neglected art form was the gross amount of meat gunk and the severe lack of nachos most important topping: CHEESE! Let it be understood that you should never put cheese in the corner. Nachos, nay, GREAT nachos should be a cheese extravaganza. And while both of us believe meat should have no place at this esteemed platter, if it is added, meat should serve at the pleasure of cheese, keeping its admirable penchant for pronounced flavor and spotlight-hogging abundance at bay. Yes meat, you are as magnificent as a Caribbean sunset at the start of a two-week vacation at an all-Herradura-inclusive resort. But on this plate, you must play second fiddle to cheese. Always.
Furthering our carne crying, the spicy beef chili created an unappetizing soup at the bottom of the plate that soaked the tortillas, rendering them about as useful as pointy hat in a Navy Seal operation. This could’ve been corrected with an avalanche of cheese. Lack of proper construction also made for using our forks, which being men of nachos is a heresy. And the taste was not remarkable nor, thankfully, lasting. Seems this platter was created as a waiting station for some of their marquee menu items. Something that won’t please but won’t displease, that sets up the shepard’s pie, cheeseburger, or fish and chips nicely due to the lack of imagination and care put into the platter of nachos.
Leaving Slattery’s disgruntled and unsatisfied, we tried to salvage National Nachos Day with tales from some of our most memorable nachos adventures. While it didn’t cure our ills, it did lead us to make a pact to spend next National Nachos Day at a place that would truly celebrate the day with a flourish and not a flarp.