I Can Pretentiously Write About Pop Culture Too!
This post contains lethal doses of sarcasm if read irresponsibly.
Taco Bell owes the grandeur of its chicken gordita crunch to its Mexican and corporate marketing forebears, who fought hard for this crispy and cheesy mouthfeel. For many of us, Taco Bell is more than just a meal out; it’s a nexus of cultivation, a caloric ecosystem of food integrity, and most importantly, an obligatory nourishment practice. The extra $1.50 for guacamole is not only a surcharge, but also our consent in the social contract. The McDonald’s golden arches, an emblem of a bygone Leave it to Beaver idyll, cedes its centrifugal force in the cultural zeitgeist to the ringing glitterati of the iconic purple bell. Taco Bell is quintessential Americana: It is both multicultural and cultural appropriation.
The Taco Bell drive-thru at 1 AM will feature a $200K Mercedes S65 waiting right behind a ‘96 Cavalier that’s never had an oil change, followed by three people drunkenly straddling a moped. They all crave the same desire, to Live Más, perhaps longing for the permanent return of the Mexican Nachos. Each ravenous gullet is potent and precise, partaking in what is truly the last great melting pot of class in this country.