Haute-N-Ready: Taco Bell's Boss Nachos

The innovators behind Doritos Locos Tacos, Crunchwraps and the soon-to-be-released Quesalupa are back in the nacho racket.

Welcome to Haute-N-Ready, in which John Locanthi, Willamette Week's trencherman of leisure, tastes the hastily made, modestly priced food of the common man.

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Nachos, folks. They're good. They're one of those snacks, sides, junk foods that feel like they've been around as long as the ballpark dog. And yet, they've been oddly left out as most national chains beef up their cheese-covered side offerings. This column alone has touched on fondue fries, carne asada fries and poutine over the past half year. But where have the nachos gone? It's almost like the public has lost interest in corn chips covered in artificial cheese. Well, Taco Bell is hoping that isn't the case with its gargantuan new-ish Boss Nachos.

In many ways, Taco Bell is the safest place to bet customers haven't fully disavowed synthetic cheese product. Their Quesarito seems to have found a permanent spot on the menu despite it being the only product I've ever reviewed for this column that I've been unable to finish. In fact, the Quesarito has done so well that Taco Bell is rolling out the Quesalupa after this upcoming Super Bowl. And since the chain inexplicably discontinued Mexi-nuggets years ago (sign the change.org petition and make a difference), nachos might be the only way for Taco Bell to work its way back into the cheesy side dish racket.

And so I headed over to the nearest Taco Bell to sample these nachos. The Bell offers them covered in steak ($5.99), chicken ($5.99) and ground beef ($4.99). As a being with functioning taste buds, I splurged for the steak. There are a plethora of options to add on to the nachos on Taco Bell's website—bacon, premium latin rice, avocado ranch sauce, oh my!—but I stuck with the standard.

The Boss Nachos are big. At first, I figured the word "Boss" simply implied steak, as in the visually underwhelming Boss Crunchwraps, but I was wrong. The nachos platter takes up a full half of the serving tray. The steak Boss Nachos contain over 1,100 calories, so I ordered two Crunchwrap sliders to round out the meal. (Pro-tip: don't do this.)

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Sour cream, guacamole, and pico de gallo are separated into three distinct sections with nacho cheese being a constant throughout. Taking a page from Wendy's, my Taco Bell servers also sprinkled a little real cheese on top in a vain effort to conceal the 7-Eleven-caliber nacho cheese underneath. This design is helpful in that only one third of the nachos have been befouled by the vile white paste Taco Bell calls sour cream. The guacamole is serviceable. The pico de gallo is perfectly cromulent.

Oddly enough, my biggest complaint outside of the sour cream is that there simply wasn't enough nacho cheese. Stockholm syndrome is the only way to describe our relationship with this molten cheese-inspired goop. It's disgusting. It tastes bad. Yet, we all stomach it for some reason. Maybe because it brings back those fond childhood memories of watching the Portland Rockies at PGE Park or that joy when your parents stopped at 7-Eleven midway through a long road trip. As I slowly munched away at this mound of nachos, I actually found myself wishing it had more of the very cheese that made the Quesarito so inedible.

The very best thing about Taco Bell's Boss Nachos is that they are the perfect size to be shared amongst friends. So many of the cheesey fries and other loaded sides these days are only sized to add a few hundred more calories to your meal. These are large enough to supplement multiple meals. Of course, this all depends on whether you can actually find other people willing to join you at Taco Bell.

A helpful diagram

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