It was New Year’s Eve, and for the first time in forever, Bobby and I had the place to ourselves.
We were in the kitchen (and yes, I’d gotten permission from Indira).Wind howled in from the ocean, battering the walls of Hemlock House, but the kitchen was warm and dry, with the air smelling of hot oil and garlic and masa.I’d turned off the lights in most of the house.I’d set out a pair of champagne flutes, and the bottle was chilling.I’d stocked up on enough poppers, paper hats, and party horns for twenty people.But the whole point of tonight was to keep this New Year’s Eve to two people.Exactly two people.And I’d come up with the perfect theme: nachos.
Bobby, however, was choosing to be difficult.
“I’m just telling you—” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.“—I don’t think they’re called poppers.”
“They pop when you open them, Bobby.They’re poppers.”
“Uh huh,” he said.
“What else would poppers be?”
He was definitely trying not to laugh now.That big, goofy grin covered his face, and his eyes crinkled.“You know what?I don’t know.”
“Hold this,” I said and passed him the plate of shredded cheese.“And be ready.”
“I think the nachos have enough cheese.”
“Exactly:youthink they have enough cheese.But I’m the expert, remember?I’ll be the judge.”
“How does someone become an expert on nachos?”
I opened the oven and checked my masterpiece: a sheet pan of perfectly crispy, perfectly toasty, perfectlycheesynachos.I had blue corn chips.I had yellow corn chips.I had chicken.I had jalapenos.I had black beansandrefried beans.And as soon as they came out of the oven, I was ready to hit them with the pico.
“You become an expert on nachos,” I said, “by eating them every day of your life from ages twelve to eighteen.”
“Your parents didn’t make you eat any vegetables?”
“Hello,” I said, “garlic.Onions.Jalapenos.Besides, they were just happy I was easing out of my Top Ramen phase.”
“Honestly, how did you survive being a teenager?”
“Nachos cover a lot of the basic food groups, Bobby.Plants.”
“‘Plants’ isn’t a food group.”
“And cheese.”
“Again, not—”
“And meat.Sometimes I’d put chickenandbeef on there.”
“Let me guess: this was your rebellious phase.”
“No, my rebellious phase was when I invented dessert nachos.”
“Okay,” Bobby said, “I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself.Are we having dessert nachos tonight?”
“Yes, obviously.First, we’re having appetizer nachos—those are just chips and the liquid cheese that comes out of a bag, and you eat them in a plastic tray, and it’s the only part of going to a baseball game that you like.”
“So many things are making sense right now,” Bobby murmured.
“And then we’re having main course nachos—voila!”
“Very impressive.”
“And then we’re having dessert nachos.Obviously.”
