Picture a plate of beautiful, loaded nachos. Now, picture all of that in one Dorito — yes, you read that right. Doritos is bringing back the inside-out nacho, and we got to try it.

Rachel Williamson

There’s a simple comfort in the sight of a plate of loaded nachos. The melted cheese, the decadently placed guac, salsa, and sour cream, and the scattered jalapeños and beans all give the dish a sense of community among such different flavors.

But the loaded Dorito is a daunting sight. It’s basically a Dorito on steroids. Immediately, I was plagued with orange, sticky crumbs, already wanting to wash my hands. It’s soft, not crunchy — making me wonder if it even qualifies as a Dorito. 

Rachel Williamson

My first thought when I bit into the questionable snack was, “I can’t believe I’m eating this sober."

It’s greasy, cheesy, crumby, and salty. It’s a health nut's worst nightmare. The loaded Dorito has a subtle spicy kick to it (which I’m assuming is the genetically enhanced jalapeño flavor), but it's overpowered by a substantial amount of salt. I gulped the nearest bottle of water right after taking a bite.

I kind of had an it’s-disgusting-but-I-like-it moment halfway through eating it (which made me question my sanity), but then I thought, “This would be great drunk food.”

Photo courtesy of Doritos

While it used to only be available in 7-Eleven stores, you can now find these puzzling Doritos in the freezer section of grocery stores for $2.98 - $3.49 for a small box, and $4.98 - $5.79 for a big box. Other than the stain of orange on my fingers, the crumbs perched all over my laptop, and the pang of thirst I felt afterwards — this is something I might like in a different, ravenous state-of-mind.

Move over, pizza pockets, Doritos Loaded Nachos is drunchie food heaven. Keep some water close by, these guys make you thirsty.