It was pissing cold rain on a Friday afternoon yet the Nachos Brothers felt like strutting. Yes, strutting in the rain, friends and followers. It was the end of a highly productive work week, neither one of us had been taken conversation hostage during our beverage runs to the kitchen, and — most fantastically — we were on our way to eat nachos.
Entering the Public House in a downshifted strut, we were confronted by the impressive girth and height of the establishment along with the miasmic braying of a boisterous office party filled with dongles of corporate nubs wearing an array of fuck-it-bro and work-it-girl smirks. The bar area beckoned us away from the inane din and to our primary calling: procuring nachos.
The comely bartender recommended that we get the pulled pork nachos. Despite our devastating looks, we are at the end of the day amenable men. So the pulled pork nachos were so ordered. Within 10 minutes the platter arrived, a glorious, smoldering heap of nachos brilliance, smothered with sour cream, black beans, jalapeños rings, and plenty and plenty of cheese. And the taste was as large as its size. Toppings were in full sloppy force. Cheese was spread thick and with messy abandon around the platter. What struck us as this preparer’s most remarkable achievement was a perfect application of toppings. A good amount of freshly sliced jalapeños giving the occasional mouthful a pleasant singe. Cheese to sour cream relationship was respectful yet appropriate (there should never be more sour cream than cheese. You should demand a refund if you fall victim to this crime)
The surprise of the platter was how well the pulled pork played with everything. Our food holes found it extraordinarily gratifying, except for one small factor: the BBQ sauce was a touch too sweet. Not overwhelmingly so, but just a smidge. If no brown sugar had been applied or, better yet, the sauce was left off completely, my acclaimed partner and I felt assured the savoriness of the naked swine would’ve catapulted the dish to remarkable heights. Also, guacamole required extra ducats and while fresh wasn’t seasoned properly enough to warrant its “by request only” status.
Nitpicking of course. This was an expertly constructed, steamy platter of delicious nachos. No chip went unadorned with cheesy and topping goodness. So we exited the Public House NYC with our bellies full, nachos itch scratched, and a reason to carry on strutting through the hard rain towards what next adventure awaited.
Nachometer: 8/10
