Cool Ranch Doritos

Cool Ranch Doritos

1980s nostalgia got the better of me this week, as I started thinking about ranch flavor and Cool Ranch Doritos in particular.

As a middle-aged person, I find that Cool Ranch Doritos are the only Doritos flavor that don't give me instant heartburn, so they have that going for them. (I still have to be careful not to eat them within 2-3 hours of bedtime, lest I awaken with my gut churning with acid. Listen up, kids: it will happen to you, too.)

Doritos used to be my #1 go-to snack of choice. I would reliably buy at least two or three bags a month. But over time, I began phasing them out of rotation. They aren't any good for you, it's true, but it's more the case that I prefer a different kind of salty snack these days.

The great downfall of Doritos as a whole is that they are so clearly made of reconstituted corn pulp. They are the particleboard of snacks. As such, when you chew them, they turn back into a paste in your mouth. They have that airy crunch that tells you that there is little of substance inside. And more to the point, in a humid climate (like where I live) you have about five minutes after you open the bag to enjoy them. They get sad and damp and stale quite quickly, even if you use a chip clip.

(The only exception to this is when you have a misfire, and bite down such that a sharp corner jabs into your gumline or the roof of your mouth. Man, that hurts.)

I have also been moving more towards simpler foods, Pollan-esque foods. Lay's Original potato chips have three ingredients: potatoes, oil, and salt. Cool Ranch Doritos have 29 ingredients, and that's just counting the top-level stuff.

Whereas the trend in recent years has been for the "extreme-ification" of Doritos flavors, Cool Ranch remains relatively steadfast. It is a mild taste, which - for better or worse - facilitates an extensive snacking session. Each chip is heavily dusted with a festive blend of red, green, and yellowish powder which is no doubt meant to invoke the ingredients of ranch dressing, but which I am sure is at least 95% salt.

The predominant flavor is a tangy dairy taste, the distinctive buttermilk flavor of ranch dressing. It's basically that, salt, and an onion flavor. A surprisingly simple flavor mix, and surprisingly delicious for it. Even though when I type it all out like that, it sounds disgusting.

We Americans love the flavor of dairy. In Asia, they think we're insane. But we return the favor by getting squicked out by fermented foods. I have learned that in some places in Europe, Cool Ranch Doritos are called Cool American Doritos. Aside from being a bit of pandering to any American tourists wandering through the Danish grocery aisles, this is probably just accurate reporting. If anything deserves to be called "the American flavor," it's ranch.

Oh wow, someone please take this bag away from me! My protestations aside, I clearly can't be trusted with it.