Review: Taco Bell Doritos® Locos Tacos

I had of course heard of the Taco Bell Doritos® Locos Tacos for several weeks. Every time I had the same thought: “That is either going to be completely disgusting or completely amazing, and probably both.” I don’t dine at Taco Bell® with the frequency of my younger days (mostly because I don’t live very close to one anymore), so the chance to sample this new dish did not readily present itself.

I eventually decided that if I didn’t seize the day eventually it would vanish from the menu (and most likely never return), so one day after getting off of work I decided to try it. I got off around 11pm, which is crucial because it means it was late enough that I was too tired and lazy to go to the store to buy food or make food, but early enough that my girlfriend wouldn’t be home for another few hours so if I needed to throw it up afterwards I’d have time.

Pulling into the drive-thru I was struck at how cheap the price was. Usually Taco Bell®’s promotional items are downright pricy (up to $3.50 in some cases!), but the Doritos® Locos Tacos are only $1.69 for the regular version, and $1.89 for the “supreme.” I have no idea what the difference is between the regular and the supreme, but I figured that I might as well “go big or go home” and go for the full Taco Bell Doritos® Locos Tacos Experience. The price being so low, I considered buying two, but then instead I decided I liked being alive.

The cashier at the drive-thru was fairly pretty. I was a little embarrassed to be buying such a disgusting food from her. She gave me extra sauce though, so obviously she didn’t think too lowly of me. Really, thinking about it, it’s not too outside the realm of possibility that I was the best-looking man who’d been through the drive-thru during her shift. This is Taco Bell® after all.

The drive home was one of anticipation. I drove quickly, perhaps too quickly, afraid that the culinary masterpiece sitting in my passenger seat would go cold (it did a little, unfortunately).

When I got home, I poured myself a glass of fruit juice to go with it so I could pretend that I make good life choices sometimes. I unwrapped the taco.

I could see immediately why the price was so low. It’s the same size as other Taco Bell® tacos, which is to say, pretty small. The other thing is that like most other Taco Bell® products, it contains that wonderful weapons-grade tube beef. When I eat at Taco Bell® I usually opt for chicken. It’s a bit pricier, but it doesn’t come from a tube and it doesn’t feel like it’s trying to assassinate you once it’s inside your body. In this case, though, I decided to opt for the beef in order to get the “pure” Taco Bell Doritos® Locos Tacos experience (at least as far as you can use the word “pure” when describing a taco with a shell made out of Doritos®).

What distinguishes it, of course, from other tacos is the shell. The shell was the angry orange-red of Nacho Cheese Doritos®, and indeed, taking a bite I could immediately taste the familiar flavor as the shattered bits of corn chip hit the salt receptors on my tongue. There’s also the cheesy aftertaste you experience with Doritos®, as well as a bit of the familiar finger residue (not nearly as much as from actual chips, however).

The Doritos® flavor was soon overwhelmed, however, as I began to masticate the contents of the taco. With a normal bite, it was impossible to tell that it had anything other than a plain corn chip shell except for a slight Doritos® aftertaste.

The taco was quickly devoured, leaving me still hungry. The fruit juice washed it down nicely.

Mr. Johnson

Mr. Johnson had been coming to our restaurant for years. Every time he came in, he would order the same meal: grilled chicken with a side of broccoli, a baked potato (butter only) and a coffee. After he finished eating and the plates were cleared away, he would take out his domino set. Occasionally he would come in to eat with someone else and they would play with him. Sometimes one of us would sit down to play a round or two. Often, he simply played by himself. Whatever the case, he frequently stayed for at least an hour after he was done eating, and sometimes even longer. He would sip his coffee, politely asking for refills when necessary.

Newer employees were sometimes annoyed by him. “Why is that guy just sitting there playing dominoes?” they fumed. “He’s already eaten and paid for his meal, he’s just taking up a table that some other paying customer could use.”

“That’s Mr. Johnson,” we’d tell them. “Who the hell are you? He’s been a part of this restaraunt longer than you have.”

The restaraunt closed at 10 P.M. Mr Johnson knew that we were trying to go home. Although nobody had ever asked him to leave, he always packed up his dominoes and left as soon as the clock struck 10 if he happened to still be around at that time. Not to mention, he always tipped well.

Nobody knew anything about him. He knew several of us by name, and we would often sit and talk to him, but he never talked about himself or his life. Most people thought he was a lonely widower, his children (if any) grown and long gone. There were, of course, much more wild rumors as well. Some claimed that he was a former Nazi, or a former spy, or even a current spy. One wild-eyed fry cook floated the hypothesis that Mr. Johnson was a highly advanced domino-playing robot.

A busboy tailed Mr. Johnson home one day to see where he lived. The next day a crowd gathered around him to hear the details of Mr. Johnson’s home life.

“Where did he live? What was it like?” they asked him.

“It was just a regular house,” he said, shrugging.

Mr. Johnson didn’t come in every day, so it took a few weeks before we realized he hadn’t been in for quite some time. There was a sense of quiet panic as we all tried to figure out what had happened to our favorite customer.

“It had to happen eventually,” the conspiracy theorists said, “His cover got blown, the CIA’s taken him in for questioning.”

Henrietta Simmons discovered the answer as she was paging through the newspaper on her break. Henrietta was the type of person who always read the obituaries. She said it made her feel better about herself.

“Come quick!” she called, “Mr. Johnson is dead!”

Stuart Johnson died Tuesday. He was 89.
He died at the Angel of Mercy Hospital of respiratory failure.
Mr. Johnson served in the Army during World War II, and entered the paper industry after returning. Mr. Jonhson was an avid domino player (several of us chuckled as we read that) and dog breeder.
He is survived by three children and five grandchildren. Services will be held privately.

We passed around the newspaper in silence. After all these years, we finally had gotten a glimpse into the life of Mr. Johnson, and now it was too late. Many were secretly disappointed, as it turned out that his life was not nearly as exciting as they had imagined. Mr. Johnson was just a regular person.

We cut out the obituary, had it framed, and hung it up on the wall. It’s still there to this day.

Some Things Never Change

“Hey, look!” called out the kid, prodding a small paper bag with his foot. The old man walked over and picked it up carefully.

“Now there’s a symbol I haven’t seen in years. ‘Trillions served.’ That was more than the population of the planet at its height. Damn fine achievement.”

“What’s this?” asked the kid, picking up a cup made out of a strange, squishy white material. Inside was a dark brown liquid.

The old man took a sip and smiled wistfully. “The nectar of the gods,” he said.

He passed the cup to the kid, who took a sip and winced. “Gross! It’s so sweet!”

The old man smiled sadly. “We used to drink that poison by the gallon. But now let’s see what’s in the bag. Those health nuts always used to say that there were enough preservatives in this ‘food’ to last a hundred years. Maybe they were right.”

He opened the bag and pulled out a small cardboard container filled with thin yellow sticks. He offered one to the kid, who took it and sniffed it cautiously.

“It’s a funny thing,” mused the old man, “I never ate here before the war. I always preferred the competitors. But hey, everything changes.”

He popped one of the sticks into his mouth, chewed, and grimaced. “Well, some things stay the same,” he sighed. “The food here still sucks.”

Dead and Dirty in Dubai Part 8: How Not to Get a Tip as a Waiter

Bear Grylls looked up from his meal. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Well gee Bear I dunno,” said Tim, “What’d it sound like?”

“This is why I’m famous and you’re only the cameraman, Tim,” said Bear. “It sounded almost like…a small bell.”

“There was a bell on the door of the restaurant,” said the doctor.

“I bet it was the bell on the door of the restaurant,” said Bear, “Let’s check it out.”

The trio crept to the door of the kitchen and peeked out into the dining room. There, they were horrified to see several zombies sitting at the tables, pounding their silverware and  loudly demanding their meals.

“Gee Bear, that’s a lot of zombies dontchaknow,” whispered Tim.

“Now look,” Bear said, pulling back into the kitchen “Things look pretty bad right now, but I didn’t get to be the most famous survivalist in the world by giving up when things look bad. I’ve got a plan.”

—

“Hello!” the three shouted as they glided out of the kitchen wearing the clothes that used to belong to the waiters of Luigi’s. Each of them held a covered silver platter in their hand and they approached the nearest table. The zombies looked up at them and grinned.

“Tonight, for your first course,” said the doctor.

“We’re just so proud to present to you,” said Tim.

“Your death! Um…second death!” shouted Bear, as the three whipped the cover off of the platters to reveal meat cleavers and other various knives.

In the aftermath of the bloody battle, the three sat on the floor exhausted.

“Where’d you learn to be so good with a knife?” Bear asked the surgeon.

All of a sudden, three police officers kicked down the door.

“Freeze!” they shouted, “We’re shutting this place down for not paying your rent!”

“There’s a zombie plague infesting the city and you’re worried about rent?” asked the doctor, amazed.

“You have the right to remain silent, so shut up!”

“Make sure you get this on camera,” Bear whispered to Tim. “Confrontations with armed maniacs always bring the ratings up.”

Bear stood slowly, holding his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. ”Officers, there’s been a mistake,” he said, as he grabbed for the nearest one’s gun. Unfortunately, another one of the officers noticed this and smacked him in the face with a shotgun, shattering his skull. Bear Grylls collapsed, dead.

Dead and Dirty in Dubai Part 6: Umano Parmigiana

(Just joining us? Go back to the beginning of the story.)

Bear, Tim and the doctor made it to Luigi’s fairly uneventfully. Walking into the restaurant, however they were assaulted…by a delicious smell!

“Well gee Bear, that smells great!” Tim said, licking his lips.

“Right, yes, I think we’ve hit the motherload here,” Bear said, beckoning for the camera. “Apparently when the zombie attack hit, the chefs in this restaurant fled, leaving a delicious meal behind for any survivors.”

They walked into the kitchen and soon found the oven that was producing the smells. Opening the oven, they found their worst fears realized…inside was a human body!

“How nice of you to join us for dinner,” groaned a seductive voice. Turning around, they saw a zombie leaning provocatively against the door frame, blocking the exit. “Maybe afterwards, we could go to my place for a bit. Or a bite.” The zombie laughed pervertedly.

The three heroes looked at each other, then grabbed the knives off the counter. The zombie was soon dispatched.

Bear motioned for Tim to begin filming him. “Sometimes,” he said, “When you’re in the wilderness and starving to death, you don’t have a lot of choice. Sometimes you have to eat things you never thought you’d eat…”

Merry Christmas

Dear Santa,

How are things at the North Pole? Based on what General Patterson’s been teaching us, I’d imagine that there wouldn’t be many “strategic targets” up there (unless your workshop is one? I would think it’d be pretty important) so I hope you’re doing well. Things down here aren’t that great. A couple of people got dragged away by some crazy cult. We can hear ‘em shouting and singing their crazy mutant songs all night. It’s really scary.

Is it snowing up there? It’s snowing down here, too. Since I’ve lived in Florida all my life I’ve never seen snow but it snowed this year. Mom wouldn’t let me go play in it though. She said that the snow was actually something called fallout and I should stay inside. But I saw Billy and Bobby outside having a snowball fight and they were just fine! Mom can be so mean sometimes.

I don’t really want that much for Christmas. It’d be nice if everyone could be happy for once. I’ve heard Mom and Dad fighting and yelling about lots of stuff. A couple of people are saying that the water purifier’s close to breaking down and pretty soon we’ll all be drinking something called rads. I don’t know what rads is but it sounds pretty bad and all the grown-ups are kind of upset about it.

But I know that world peace and happiness and stuff like that isn’t really what you do, you’re more for the real presents. Well, I guess I’d like a BB Gun for Christmas. That way I could help all the grown-ups protect the shelter. A BB Gun’s not very powerful but I think it would help keep the giant rats away at least. They’re pretty scared of stuff, even though they’re really scary too.

Anyway Santa, I know there’s lots of other girls and boys writing letters to you so I’d better finish this up (also I’m running out of paper and I had to steal this sheet from the commissary. Can you believe they wouldn’t give me even one piece of paper? I hope that’s OK, I know stealing’s wrong, but otherwise there would have been no way! Please forgive me, Santa). Hope Mrs. Claus and the Elves are well. We don’t have any cookies but I’ll try and leave some canned pears out. They’re the closest thing we have.

Love,

Timmy Calhoun