So you just wanted to get out of the house and have something not too expensive for dinner. You went out and got nachos. A lot of nachos. Far too many nachos for any single human being to consume in one sitting. You felt too guilty about waste to leave them behind even though you know that nachos don’t reheat so well. So you packed them up and brought them home anyway and now you have THIS:
It’s just a big block of cold chips and cheese and meat and sauce. Some of the chips are still crispy, some are completely soggy, and some are in a sad in-between stage that no one likes. So now what?
We’re going to call this nacho regret chilaquiles. Spread that clump of stuff into a baking dish, trying to even out the toppings over the chips. Pour over half a cup of water. Add extra cheese because everything is better with extra cheese. Cover your masterpiece with foil and stick it in a 350 degree oven for 30 minutes.
And that’s when magic happens. The water soaks into the chips and steams into them, thinning the sauce and spreading it around more evenly. The chips lose their singularity, melding into a soft base. The cheese melts to hold it all together. The nachos evolve into something greater then their separate parts; they become chilaquiles, the comfort food of Mexican kitchens for centuries before nachos were even a thought.
This particular batch had a very Southern twist, very Memphis specifically. These were not just your average nachos even to begin with. No, these were barbecue nachos. So instead of spicy salsa, there was sweet and smoky barbecue sauce. The meat was smoked and shredded instead of spiced and ground.
You can dress these up any way you like. Add some onion before baking or after if you want a crisp bite. Top them with a fried egg. Spinkle on cilantro or a dollop of sour cream.