I want to tell you about breakfast nachos because I want you to be happy. There's so little to cheer about these days, or at least it can feel that way, so sharing this bit of my soul with you feels like a moral duty. Also nachos are great. They will make you feel and be great, no matter the hour. That may seem like an exaggeration, but when you leave your home in the morning (if you choose to do so—hunkering inside and binge-watching Law & Order all day is a perfectly viable option) you will do so with the knowledge that unlike the rest of your neighbors, fellow commuters, and colleagues, your day has been kickstarted by nachos, so you will defeat them.
Here's what quantifies nachos as breakfast nachos: eggs. They possess a transubstantiative power that makes anything they're plopped atop breakfast, but only when they're hot. Folks, I don't make the rules, I just live by them. And I live well.
I was preparing my daily breakfast salad this morning (again, by virtue of egg) and it occurred to me that the world will probably end at any second, so I should probably add tortilla chips. (Just in case the end isn't that imminent, they were these froofy grain-free, paleo-friendly chips that don't irritate my gut as much as the regular chips that are my favorite food on the planet. No one wants to spend the afterlife crampy.) This was the best idea that I have ever had.
This morning salad of mine isn't that far off from nachos. It's got meat (in this case, strips of crisp pork belly), lettuce (in the form of arugula), tomatoes (little grape ones that I cut up all fussily), peppers (sambal oelek today, but it varies), occasionally some aged cheese if I feel like flying close to the sun (it's a weird paleo loophole), eggs (fried or scrambled), and usually crisp sweet potato or squash straws or chunks. It sounds like a big, hot mess—and it kind of is—but these are foods I know I can physically handle, make me feel properly nutrified, and most importantly are appealing enough to lure me from bed in a way that oatmeal, a smoothie, or a grim breakfast bar could not. It is a hot breakfast, at least parts of it, and that feels like a small act of self care.
Adding tortilla chips to the mix made it feel like an even larger and more aggressive act of both love and nihilism, which is a powerful thing to achieve before 9 a.m. 10/10 would morning nacho again.
I hope that you will join me in this crunchy revolution, however you see fit. (BTW, these are distinctly not chilaquiles or migas because they just aren't damp enough.) Don't dig on swine? Beef, chicken, and tofu are cool. Sambal not your jam? Salsa, romesco, or some manner of pepper-based sauce or spread gets the job done. Any manner of cheese—even vegan—is perfectly acceptable. Cook the eggs in the manner that pleases you most. Stack it all together. Chips are the only non-negotiable and again, I don't make the rules, I only seek to identify and amplify possibilities of happiness in your life. Why do I care so much? That's nacho problem to worry about—just know that I truly regret having just made that godawful pun, and that I want your breakfast world to be just a little more chipper.