Communion wafer Nachos Bell Grande

plus a (good) personal announcement

Hi there, clowns!

Wow. Food is Stupid now reaches over 1,000 of you.

That’s quite a milestone. Thank you for all the social media shares, email forwards, and of course, paid subscriptions. Frankly, I’m stunned. As email newsletters go, I’m sure this is still small potatoes, but it feels big to me!

I’m sorry it’s been a few weeks since I last transmitted a stomach churning edition of Food is Stupid, but it’s because I’ve just had a miserable four weeks of non-stop things that only got worse by the day.

So, here’s what happened (gloss over this if it bores you): Pandemic doctor checkup (normal checkup, but I was terrified), Davida’s car had some major expensive (ouch) issues spanning weeks (now fixed), I pulled out a piece of what I thought was my tooth while flossing (fixed, but scared for a few days), my car was broken into and robbed bare, then a few days later, someone wrecked it while it was parked on the street (currently fighting insurance, who’s being an asshole). This isn’t even all of it.

These events were enough to overwhelm me, and it took a toll on my mental health. Every time things felt like they were getting better, I got knocked down two pegs. Things got to be too much.

Knowing I was having a hard time, my friend Leela made this for me and that’s when things felt like they’d turn around.

And they are, just slowly. But one big good thing did happen, and I’ll tell you about it at the end.

Now, in times of trouble, many people turn to God for guidance, answers, and solace.

I do not, because I am a disgusting heathen person who does not believe in God. If God existed, They would smite the nasty food I make regularly onto the ground and run over it with a golden buffalo beamed down from the sky.

We used to go to Korean church when I was Small Dannis, but I hated going. Our pastor was a cornball, the basement smelled funny, it was boring, and I wanted my Sundays back to go play, because come on, I was a kid.

When I went to my first Catholic service for my cousin’s wedding, I could not believe how different it was from Korean church. The priest spoke in Latin for a while, and everyone sat there listening and nodding, presumably not understanding a single word the guy was saying. And wow, did the whole thing feel long. People did this every Sunday?

Then I witnessed communion. I watched people join the church conga line headed by the priest, and I saw them all eat a blessed little round white disc that resembled styrofoam and drink wine from the same goblet, which seemed like a hilariously disgusting idea. Imagine being the last person to have your mouth on that thing. Especially now.

Since I was not a member of the Catholic faith, I abstained from the conga line, but ever since then, I’ve been curious about that little white disc. What was it made of? More importantly, what did it taste like?

At 39, this question still haunted me. And it turns out you can literally just buy packs of communion wafers on Amazon, which seems amazingly blasphemous, but that “Buy Now” button has a habit of mashing itself, especially when you’re cackling with glee.

A mere taste test of metaphorical Jesus was not enough for me. From far away they look like round Tostitos®. Which reminded me of nachos. Would Jesus make good nachos?

There was only one way to find out, so say hello to (insert booming voice here): The communion wafer Nachos Bell Grande.

That was just as satisfying to type as you’d have imagined.

Communion wafers come in an unceremonious plastic-wrapped stack.

The box came via regular mail, and was fairly banged up by the time I got it, but the discs were intact. The Postal Service ships Jesus. A true miracle.

I apparently got the giant kind, because the ones I saw in person decades ago were much smaller.

These would make for better nachos anyway. I split one along the perforations and cautiously tried it.

The foamy biscuit immediately melted in my mouth. It tasted exactly like those flimsy wafer ice cream cones that always shatter before you can get to the bottom. I’m not sure what I was actually expecting, but culinarily speaking, communion wafers are about as boring as church service.

For lunch today, I went to Taco Bell and ordered a Nachos Bell Grande with all the ingredients on the side.

Because I feel guilty about doing things like this, right after I rattled off the order, I said, “I’m sorry, this is for my picky kid.” We do not have a kid, unless you count Nugget, our cat, who left a turd on the floor this morning. If you blame things on imaginary children, you can get away with a lot in life.

I double checked chip-to-wafer sizes.

I split the wafers with that handy perforation. Food technology rules!

I started with the beans, just like the regular version of Nachos Bell Grande.

Taco Bell’s refried beans, I read somewhere, are reconstituted from dry mix, but secretly, I like them a lot. I appreciate that they’re not a smooth paste, but a little coarse with noticeable bits of the bean skin intact. Beans are a good part of a healthy diet, so you can Live Más. Taco Bell is here for you.

For some reason, they gave me a big meat cup and a baby meat cup.

Why, I do not know, but I appreciate the gesture. People frequently talk shit about Taco Bell’s ground beef filling, but that’s because everyone is a hater. That predigested texture, the mild cumin seasoning, it’s all truly a modern culinary masterpiece.

I plopped the meat on along with globs of nacho cheese sauce.

Taco Bell’s nacho cheese sauce is underrated. It’s thicker and glossier than shitty concession stand nachos (holy shit, I wonder if we’re ever going to see those again). It’s also great for your skin if you put it on right before bed. This is the secret to my glowing buttcheeks.

Tomatoes and sour cream finish off the nachos, and finally, the heavenly body of Christ meets the earthly pleasures of Taco Bell.

I did the sign of the cross, said grace, and dug into blasphemy.

Man, communion wafers make for awful corn chip substitutes, because damn, are they flimsy. They soak up any moisture they come in contact with and immediately become structurally useless.

The photo perspective makes it a little difficult to see, but that wafer is wrapped limply over my thumb since it couldn’t stand on its own.

As for the flavor, it really is only about the toppings, only because the wafers aren’t seasoned with anything (even salt, as far as I could tell). They disintegrate in your mouth leaving nearly no trace behind. It’s actually pretty weird, because essentially, you may as well be scooping up nacho toppings with your bare fingers and shoveling it in your mouth. Don’t be ashamed, we’ve all been there.

Davida looked at the tray and said, “This is so pretty. It almost doesn’t seem real.” After a mouthful she said, “I could eat the whole thing,” which she proceeded to do, while I stole a few more bites.

“It doesn’t make a difference because Taco Bell’s chips are always stale as shit anyway,” she said.

After this I’m supposed to go into a booth and tell the priest I did this, right? Can I eat in there? I have a lot of wafers left.

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Thank you all for being patient, and holy crap. Over 1,000 of you receive this thing now and I still can’t get over it.

As usual, if you like it, please share this bite of the Holy Spirit on social media:

Next paid subscriber content is related, because not only did I get the chewy parts of Jesus, I got the liquid parts too. Only paid subscribers get to see.

Consider a paid subscription because if I’m going to Hell, maybe I can upgrade to 1st class.

And finally, the last good thing, and for me, at least, it’s big.

I have a new job.

The past four and a half years I’ve had working at Paulie Gee’s Logan Square have been nothing short of spectacular.

I’ve learned so much and I’m grateful for the fact that I’ve been able to cook for so many people, including many of you reading this. I can’t get over the support I’ve gotten from the restaurant community across the globe, which is mindboggling.

Working in a restaurant has opened my eyes to an entire culture I didn’t know and appreciate until I was in the thick of it, getting my ass obliterated on the line on busy nights. But it wasn’t just about being busy; working in a restaurant is also about the quiet, anticipatory times in between, like the drone of prep work that perpetually needs to be done.

This job has taught me how to be persistent, how to be patient, and most importantly, how to be humble. I know I haven’t been in the game for as long as most of my colleagues, some of whom are lifers, but for the time I’ve put into it, I hope I’ve made my mark in this tiny corner of the culinary scene.

But most of all, I didn’t understand how much I could love the coworkers that adopted me as part of their family. I always felt like an outsider, being older than them, and without as much experience, but I’ve also never felt so unconditionally loved. I’ve never met a group of people that genuinely belonged together more than our crew. I thought the pandemic was going to rip us apart, but it hasn’t, and we’ve clung on and supported each other through each uneasy day.

That being said, and there’s so much more I don’t have the words to say, I’ll still be picking up an odd shift here or there to help out where I can. But I need a bit of a break, because I think I’ve depleted more of my energy than I knew. So it might not be right away, but you’ll see me in one of my stupid hat and t-shirt combinations along with my beat up, flour-crusted Crocs back behind the glass now and then.

But where am I headed?

Well, for those of you who aren’t tired of reading my writing yet, I can finally say I’ll be a full time food writer, which is a job title I’ve been chasing for about a decade now. I’ve worked so hard to get here, and I can’t believe it’s finally happening.

I’ll see you in just under two weeks as a staff writer, at The Takeout.