Is this fan fiction or food review, you decide!

"You look like such a rebel," my friend said, laughing as she watched me poke a fork into my first-ever bag of Dorilocos, procured from a stall in front of the Museo Nacional de Antropología on a warm, sunny winter day. Was there a devilish gleam in my eye? What I thought I was feeling, before I took my first bite, was fear.

You might think you're going to taste the Doritos first, but that Nacho Cheese flavoring gets drowned out by the salsa. Within the first few bites the chips are still crunchy, but they do get soggy the longer it takes for you to eat the whole bag. The texture of cueritos, rubbery but firm like cartilage, is unexpected in this context. But the interplay of crunchy peanut, chewy gummy bear, and salty chip is just great. Like a really good casserole, it's the sauce and the texture that keep Dorilocos from being an overhyped one-hit wonder.

As a novelty food, a bag of Dorilocos is far more than the sum of its parts. It's red, a hyperpigmentation the result of food science and chili powder and salsas that glow neon-bright in the soft glare of the sun. It's maximalist, a soup of flavors that arrests the senses, with tastes that are both nuanced and in-your-face obvious, funky but sweet and so, so salty. The aftertaste to each bite is a cross between the tongue-tingling effect of MSG and the Band-Aid flavor of cheap gummy bears. Most memorable to the eating experience isn't the heat, the mess, or the wild cacophony of flavors —€” it's the ache of your salivary glands, working to achieve stasis amid an onslaught of too much sodium.

Dorilocos are a fundamentally rebellious food. They're unglamorous, the opposite of farm-to-table or artisanal or sustainable. They're not healthy. They're not traditional. (At least not yet.) But when I took that first bite, I realized something: They taste spectacular. And thanks to an endless supply of inspiration and potential ingredients, the –locos possibilities are limitless. "Who knows what kind of innovative calorie bomb concoctions will hit DF or the side streets of Tijuana in the next decade?" Fritz muses on the future. "It's an exciting time to be alive."