J. Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb, quipped famously that upon seeing the destruction his creation had wrought, he was reminded of a Hindu god's terrible vengeance: "I am become death, destroyer of worlds." Someone at Taco Bell is surely thinking the same, for the Doritos Locos is fast food's nuclear weapon.
A taco with a Dorito chip for a shell. A metaphor for post-industrial America. Lunch?
The strong of heart, the weak of will, the brave, the stupid, the ravenous, the daring.
Impeccable—if Ray Eames dreamt herself a taco, a fast food assemblage, this would be it. The Locos defies shell convention. Bend, and they snap, right? Hah. Taco Bell hasn't just dusted a shell with Cheese Chemical and called it a day. The Locos shell is actually a giant, rounded chip. But what about the cheese dust? Killer of keyboards, calling card of unkept basement dungeon nerds across Christendom. Don't worry about the dust, because each taco comes in its own, meticulously crafted cardboard sleeve.
Take a bite and chew and swallow and maybe wipe the sour cream that's all over your face and dripping down your chin like the disgusting swamp beast you are.
Hey, this tastes pretty good! The Doritos flavor is toned down enough to not overwhelm the taco-ness (which is tangy and pleasant), but it's still appreciable. Each component shines in harmony—and my, that lettuce was pretty decent. For being a mortar shell filled with quasi-meat and trillions of calories, the whole affair is rather clean. That sleeve really works.
After you eat eight of these tacos within 30 minutes you'll feel like you're literally dying.
Why is there a QR code on the taco sleeve? Keep that away from my taco. Also my vision is starting to blur and I have a strong headache. Strange sensation in my stomach, and no—
We polled the Gawker Media offices for some general impressions of the Doritos Locos experience:
"They're pretty delicious."
"I hated every bite of the three I ate."
"Gross. I feel like physically ill right now. Those tacos were nine parts sour cream."
"My stomach hurts. It was worth it."
"I did not eat any, I had soup for lunch."
"Well it was my first time trying a taco. I had to eat a few to really 'get it.' But i will give it an A+. I think i want a fourth maybe?"
One heavily-bearded taste tester managed to devour an entire Doritos Locos with nary a speck of orange poison dust left behind on his face. Pretty incredible.
That's between you and your god.
Taco Bell Doritos Locos Taco
• Price: $1.70 (Supreme)
• Shell: Custom Doritos Chip
• Fillings: Shredded cheese, some lettuce, a lot of sour cream, beef (?), possibly other chemical compounds
• Calories: 200
• Fat: 11 grams
• Processor: Tegra 3
Update: A couple hours after my initial binge-testing, I had to leave work early in order to throw up everywhere and curl up in bed. I now have moderate stomach cramps, which I'm hoping to mitigate with some sort of seltzer/bleach mixture. I think it's safe to say that eight tacos is too many tacos—stick with a smaller serving.