Doritos Flamin' Hot Nacho: When Regular Nacho Cheese Isn't Punishing Enough

There's a moment, approximately three chips in, where your brain stops registering individual flavors and starts sending general distress signals. This is by design.

The structural integrity of a Dorito has never been its strong suit, and adding extra coating hasn't helped. These chips have the consistency of heavily armed cardboard—crispy enough to satisfy, fragile enough to remind you they're mass-produced.

The flavor dust distribution follows what I call the 'Dorito Doctrine': some chips are weapon-grade spicy, others merely aggressive, creating a Russian roulette of mouth pain that keeps things interesting.

The cheese flavor is there, somewhere, beneath layers of heat and MSG, like a hostage negotiator trying to be heard over a heavy metal concert. It occasionally breaks through, reminding you these are technically nacho-flavored before the spice kicks the door down again.