Sean Lovelace knows nothing about nachos
Anybody who happens to have bumped into the words or online speaking of Sean Lovelace (author of the recently released How Some People Like Their Eggs, which is fantastic and very smart (that will be my last positive reference to Mr. Lovelace in this post)) knows the dude really wants you to know that he loves nachos. It’s hard to get through a week of his blogging without at least some kind of reference to it, and to how much he loves them, etc., etc. He’s even published essays on the subject, including one in the David Foster Wallace memorial issue of Sonora Review.
To me, though, Lovelace’s endless tirading about the food seems overbloated, and in some ways insecure. It seems the food-language equivalent of truck nuts:
Having been a fat kid growing up, ordering nachos at least 5 out of 6 times my family went to dinner, my love of nachos is founded in the idea that I ordered nachos because I HAD TO, because I knew that out of all the things available on the menu, nachos would be the one meal that would be sure to fill my fat ass up. It was a matter of being alive and large. Nachos are the heartiest of dishes, meant to please and please correctly, as only a person with a fat mind can appreciate, and to do so without the worry of more delicate dishes, or in the idea that you won’t get enough to eat. And although I am normal-sized now, that spirit never left me. I have the soul of a fat teen, and it is a real thing. It is the power of the light.
For Lovelace, though, nachos are just another delicacy to be primped and pondered over like some kind of ponytailed foodie. He thinks the spirit of nachos is best derived by discussing cute things like the vertices the chips make, and the distribution of toppings, the flavor compilations. Sure, it’s fun to fuck with meat and bean and hot sauce variations, but what we’re dealing with here is a much bigger question than taste and ‘how pretty the colors look on the nacho plate.’ We’re talking about mental states.
There is the fat soul, and the thin soul, and to be trying to rep nachos as a trophy deck is not only nauseating to me, it’s wrong. We are living in America made of thin man’s humor, a state initiated by the death of Chris Farley while David Spade lived on, an incident which I believe also caused 9-11, as if Spade had died and Farley lived, the soul of our nation would be at least more pleasant, if not intact.
Not only has Lovelace never been fat, but dude runs marathons! No, he does not have the soul of a nacho lover. Instead he is a spectator, a tourist who has made his nacho name simply by beating his drum. I seriously can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve been in where somebody who’d been near to Lovelace’s brainwashing just had to bring up Sean’s nacho love in relation to mentioning the food or his name in public. Dude might as well be walking around in a Bob Marley t-shirt, claiming how he’s the first dude who ever really understood Bob.
So, all this jargon aside, I’m calling bullshit. I’m saying Sean should keep his admittedly very fine words aimed at realms he can actually psychicly grapple, like disc golf and eggs and stuff. I am prepared to publicly face Sean in a nacho standoff, the terms of which may be negotiated by our skin. Sean?