Like most men who will ever eat a Taco Bell Doritos Locos Taco, I bought mine after midnight, after a few drinks, while a woman looked on disapprovingly. My wife and I had left a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan Beach and were on our way home when I convinced her to stop at a Taco Bell in The Part of Los Angeles Where You Might Get Shot District. Note the anti-theft bank-teller-style drive-through window.
So I buy a regular Doritos Locos Taco and a Supreme Locos Taco and then the longest 10 minutes of the year happens. This is the 10 minutes between Taco Bell and home, when every light turns red, 89-year-olds are driving in front of you in the middle of the night for some fuck-forsaken-reason and those assholes who exercise on 10-speeds while the rest of are in bars doing God’s work are sweating up a good cardio on La Cienega.
All I can do is just stare at the bag and drool while my wife, who is a tremendous sport, drives us home. “What’s the deal with these?” she asks. “They’re like regular tacos, except the shells are Doritos,” I explain in a cadence that anyone who is familiar with Bubbles from The Wire would immediately recognize.
So I get the bag home and my wife asks me to take the dog out in return for driving home tonight. This is a fair trade, yet I still say the words, “But, the tacos,” because I am a selfish ass. Then she gives me the what-happened-to-the-man-I-married look and I take the dog outside.
The dog, naturally, spends the entire time sniffing the grass for places where other dogs maybe once took a shit eight years ago. After a few minutes I tell the dog, “Poop now.” Miraculously, she poops. This has never happened before, but I think my dog sensed a desperate anger in the tenor of my voice and knew she was reckoning with a force that was beyond reason.
So finally I get inside, wash my hands, give my camera phone to my wife and say, “here.” Then I open up the Doritos Los Taco Supreme and IT LOOKS GLORIOUS. This taco has everything you expect in a Taco Bell supreme taco — meat, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and sour cream — and it comes in this pulsating radioactive Snooki-orange shell. It’s like a Cleveland Browns helmet of food. I am staring at a supreme taco wrapped in what is apparently a giant Dorito, which is exactly what I crave.
I take a bite and…
Oh, disappointment. I like Taco Bell tacos. I love Doritos. I thought combining them would bring together two of my favorite things. But the Taco Bell Doritos Locos Taco is a taco of lies. The shell is orange like a Dorito, but it tastes very much like a regular Taco Bell taco shell. This is a shame because your standard Taco Bell hard taco shell tastes like Latvian cardboard. That’s why Taco Bell throws five hot sauce packets in the bag whether you ask for them or not — to hide all the flavorless ingredients.
I tried the regular Doritos Los Taco and the taste improved slightly, mainly because the supreme taco’s sour cream, I believe, nullified the dusting of Dorito Essence No. 8001 or whatever chemical compound left over from Vietnam they used to turn the shell orange and give it a slight Dorito flavor.
If you must, the regular is the way to go.
I was expecting a taco wrapped in a Dorito.
Sadly, that’s not what I got.
My guess is that Taco Bell tried to make a taco with an actual Dorito shell and it crumbled immediately. Ever dipped a Dorito into salsa? The bastard will not hold. I don’t think the world’s leading taco scientists were confident a Dorito had the structural integrity to survive a 10-minute drive home.
This is, sadly, a tragedy that could set the fast-food-junk-food hybrid movement back years.
I want more like this!
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