Doritos Late Night Last Call Jalepeño Poppers
As promised, and typically late to the party, I bring you Doritos Late Night Last Call Jalepeño Poppers. I cried tears of artificially flavored chip flavoring when I found that they had disappeared from the one store that had both Late Night varieties. I thought all was lost, but lo! My local convenience store just happened to have a lovely display of them, which I stumbled on purely by accident. As a side note, I offer you this little tidbit of advice: don't go stumbling drunkenly into your local convenience store demanding a fifth of bourbon at 10pm more than once or twice, or the crazed employee behind the counter will start asking you if you're "pleading the fifth" every time you come in, even if it is just for a pack of cigarettes or a Slim Jim.
Anyways, here I am, in possession of a snack-sized bag of Doritos Late Night Last Call Jalepeño Poppers.
Much like with the Tacos at Midnight, I find myself drawn to explore the name of these chips, and the connotations held therein. Late Night Last Call Jalepeño Poppers. It conjures up a vision of a sad, old, bearded man, sitting in a dark, dank bar with a glass of whiskey in front of him. In between drinks, he shoves his wrinkled hand into a bag of Doritos, bringing a fistful of corn chips up to his mouth, chewing sloppily as large crumbs collect in his grey, disheveled beard. His head lolls back and forth on his neck, coming steadily closer to the dirty, scratched surface of the bar. Around him, patrons slowly empty the bar, until finally, the weary bartender, drying the last of the shot glasses, says, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." The man gives a slurred protest, but it's a dance they've danced a thousand nights before, and it always ends with the man stumbling out into the darkness, clasping a half-eaten bag of Doritos, weaving his way down the sidewalk toward some random destination that his mind has foggily determined is home, at least for that night.
On the other hand, it's possible that Doritos is simply conceding that no one would actually eat these ridiculous chips unless it is 3am and they are absolutely plastered.
Don't you love the sound of a bag of chips opening? I think it might be a Pavlovian response. The crinkle as you grab the sides of the bag, that satisfying pop and puff of air as the metallic-lined...plastic...whatever the hell chip bags are made of opens. After savoring that moment, I buried my face in the bag in an attempt to determine the first impressions my nose would deliver. Much like with Tacos at Midnight, I was greeted with a scent that seemed familiar, and yet I couldn't place my finger on it. My first thought was that they smelled like ultra-concentrated regular corn chips, but that wasn't quite on the nose, as it were. I tried to think of what a jalepeño popper would theoretically smell like, and then it came to me - it smells like a spicier version of Cool(er) Ranch Doritos!
Wait, are they Cool or Cooler these days? After five minutes of research, which is well over the amount of time anyone should spend on this mystery, I think that these days they are Cool, since the Internet brought me these images:
The inexplicable heart-monitor-going-batshit logo of the one on the right is the current Doritos logo, I guess until the insane marketing team decides to change it again. They must be an indecisive bunch, since I seem to recall Doritos having approximately 17,000 different logos from the time I had enough teeth to chew them up until now. Given their current iteration, what the fuck is up with this? "Sign up to be notified when this item becomes available."
I won't be holding my breath.
Enough digressing. Back to Last Call! Smelling like spicy Cool(-er) Ranch Doritos seems like a good sign; spicy = jalepeño, Cool Ranch = well, ranch. And, actually, now that I smell it again, I do detect some Nacho Chees(ier? You know what, nevermind) Doritos. Now, the filling of actual jalepeño poppers can vary; sometimes it's cream cheese, sometimes it's melty cheddar, and sometimes you just don't know and probably don't care. I'm guessing they decided to go more of the cheddar-ish route with this one. I have to admit, I'm impressed that they would think to include the ranch flavoring. It's a small detail, but really, what are poppers without the ranch to dip them in? (...in which to dip them.)
Now then, to the chip itself.
Not exactly the Overflavored explosion of Tacos at Midnight, but a fair dusting. I see some real winners in there. I picked out a few choice triangles to perform the real test: the taste test.
Well, they've definitely got some zip to them, that's for sure. I wouldn't say they nailed the flavor of a real jalepeño, but I'm not going to file any false advertising lawsuits over it. You catch the cheese and a hint of the ranch when it first hits your tongue, but the spice really manages to overpower the more subtle flavors as the powder coats your tongue. Almost immediately, I recognized that the flavor is very reminiscent of another Doritos offering:
Doritos Salsa Verde! Which may or may not be part of Frito-Lay's Hispanic-aimed Sabritas line, depending on when you purchased them, and which may or may not be discontinued, depending on which website you choose to believe. For those of you not in the junk food know, all of the chips in the Sabritas line are packing some sort of heat. I guess they figure Whitey can't handle a little spicy dust. I guess it makes sense that they would taste (remarkably, suspiciously) similar. Wait, no it doesn't. Salsa verde and jalepeño poppers live in two different worlds. I just don't understand you, Doritos. But wait! Perhaps this is their way of sneaking spicy chips into the white man's world, to gauge their reaction. "We'll pretend that these are crazy Last Call Jalepeño Popper chips, but really they're Salsa Verde chips! Tee hee, I wonder what will happen?" What's next, taking their Toro Habanero chips and pretending they are Doritos Mid-Afternoon 5-Alarm Chili from Big Texas chips?
Pardon me while I shoot off an email to the Doritos marketing department.
In conclusion, these chips are pretty good, if you're in the mood for a snack with a bite that is satisfying, but not offensive to anyone with an average tolerance to capsaicin. My mother, who thinks Pizza Hut's pizza sauce is "too spicy", would run, screaming, from the room, but I think she's pretty much in the minority, there. Maybe I was trying too hard to smell the cheese and the ranch, but hey, at least I got the jalepeño right.
Anyways, here I am, in possession of a snack-sized bag of Doritos Late Night Last Call Jalepeño Poppers.
Much like with the Tacos at Midnight, I find myself drawn to explore the name of these chips, and the connotations held therein. Late Night Last Call Jalepeño Poppers. It conjures up a vision of a sad, old, bearded man, sitting in a dark, dank bar with a glass of whiskey in front of him. In between drinks, he shoves his wrinkled hand into a bag of Doritos, bringing a fistful of corn chips up to his mouth, chewing sloppily as large crumbs collect in his grey, disheveled beard. His head lolls back and forth on his neck, coming steadily closer to the dirty, scratched surface of the bar. Around him, patrons slowly empty the bar, until finally, the weary bartender, drying the last of the shot glasses, says, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." The man gives a slurred protest, but it's a dance they've danced a thousand nights before, and it always ends with the man stumbling out into the darkness, clasping a half-eaten bag of Doritos, weaving his way down the sidewalk toward some random destination that his mind has foggily determined is home, at least for that night.
On the other hand, it's possible that Doritos is simply conceding that no one would actually eat these ridiculous chips unless it is 3am and they are absolutely plastered.
Don't you love the sound of a bag of chips opening? I think it might be a Pavlovian response. The crinkle as you grab the sides of the bag, that satisfying pop and puff of air as the metallic-lined...plastic...whatever the hell chip bags are made of opens. After savoring that moment, I buried my face in the bag in an attempt to determine the first impressions my nose would deliver. Much like with Tacos at Midnight, I was greeted with a scent that seemed familiar, and yet I couldn't place my finger on it. My first thought was that they smelled like ultra-concentrated regular corn chips, but that wasn't quite on the nose, as it were. I tried to think of what a jalepeño popper would theoretically smell like, and then it came to me - it smells like a spicier version of Cool(er) Ranch Doritos!
Wait, are they Cool or Cooler these days? After five minutes of research, which is well over the amount of time anyone should spend on this mystery, I think that these days they are Cool, since the Internet brought me these images:
The inexplicable heart-monitor-going-batshit logo of the one on the right is the current Doritos logo, I guess until the insane marketing team decides to change it again. They must be an indecisive bunch, since I seem to recall Doritos having approximately 17,000 different logos from the time I had enough teeth to chew them up until now. Given their current iteration, what the fuck is up with this? "Sign up to be notified when this item becomes available."
I won't be holding my breath.
Enough digressing. Back to Last Call! Smelling like spicy Cool(-er) Ranch Doritos seems like a good sign; spicy = jalepeño, Cool Ranch = well, ranch. And, actually, now that I smell it again, I do detect some Nacho Chees(ier? You know what, nevermind) Doritos. Now, the filling of actual jalepeño poppers can vary; sometimes it's cream cheese, sometimes it's melty cheddar, and sometimes you just don't know and probably don't care. I'm guessing they decided to go more of the cheddar-ish route with this one. I have to admit, I'm impressed that they would think to include the ranch flavoring. It's a small detail, but really, what are poppers without the ranch to dip them in? (...in which to dip them.)
Now then, to the chip itself.
Not exactly the Overflavored explosion of Tacos at Midnight, but a fair dusting. I see some real winners in there. I picked out a few choice triangles to perform the real test: the taste test.
Well, they've definitely got some zip to them, that's for sure. I wouldn't say they nailed the flavor of a real jalepeño, but I'm not going to file any false advertising lawsuits over it. You catch the cheese and a hint of the ranch when it first hits your tongue, but the spice really manages to overpower the more subtle flavors as the powder coats your tongue. Almost immediately, I recognized that the flavor is very reminiscent of another Doritos offering:
Doritos Salsa Verde! Which may or may not be part of Frito-Lay's Hispanic-aimed Sabritas line, depending on when you purchased them, and which may or may not be discontinued, depending on which website you choose to believe. For those of you not in the junk food know, all of the chips in the Sabritas line are packing some sort of heat. I guess they figure Whitey can't handle a little spicy dust. I guess it makes sense that they would taste (remarkably, suspiciously) similar. Wait, no it doesn't. Salsa verde and jalepeño poppers live in two different worlds. I just don't understand you, Doritos. But wait! Perhaps this is their way of sneaking spicy chips into the white man's world, to gauge their reaction. "We'll pretend that these are crazy Last Call Jalepeño Popper chips, but really they're Salsa Verde chips! Tee hee, I wonder what will happen?" What's next, taking their Toro Habanero chips and pretending they are Doritos Mid-Afternoon 5-Alarm Chili from Big Texas chips?
Pardon me while I shoot off an email to the Doritos marketing department.
In conclusion, these chips are pretty good, if you're in the mood for a snack with a bite that is satisfying, but not offensive to anyone with an average tolerance to capsaicin. My mother, who thinks Pizza Hut's pizza sauce is "too spicy", would run, screaming, from the room, but I think she's pretty much in the minority, there. Maybe I was trying too hard to smell the cheese and the ranch, but hey, at least I got the jalepeño right.