Cabo Nachos; Will They Ever be Beat?

So my friends and I like to play a game. It's called "Death Row," and basically one person poses the following question to another person in the group:

"You're on death row and it's time to decide what you'd like for your last meal. You get to choose one appetizer, one main dish with two sides, and one dessert. What do you choose?"

[Is that a game?]

My answer has always been Cabo Cantina nachos for dessert and some other shit for my appetizer, main course, and two sides. The take away here being that I want to leave this earth with the leftover taste of all that is holy having its way with my taste buds.

[Clear winner.]

Now, before I get into Cabo nacho anatomy, let me preface by stating that, without a doubt, Cabo Cantina is my favorite dining/binge-drinking establishment in the greater Los Angeles area. Why, you might ask?

For some, it's the light, Mexican-inspired atmosphere. For others, it's the number of TVs broadcasting major sporting events across the globe. And yet for others, it's the entertaining riff-raff that alternates between stereotypes dependent upon your Cabo location (Venice think young street urchins and hippies, West Hollywood think older predators of questionable sanity, and Brentwood you'll find your average clusters of post-workday happy hour goers and UCLA frat boys).

For me, the appeal lies in the reality that I can get a skinny margarita the size of my head and a plate of nachos that will blow your tits off.  

Alas, I give you... Cabo Cantina Nachos (in the form of a picture that I took with my cell phone):

Here we have a delectable composition of the following ingredients (in order of importance):

• Tortilla Chips (duh)
• Melted Cheeses
• Guacamole
• Salsa/Pico de Gallo
• Black Beans
• Sour Cream Sauce
• Crumbled Mexican Cheese
• Chicken

                 ...holy shit

Here's a diagram:

Now, due to their indisputable deliciousness, you will probably be pressed to take down a plate of Cabo nachos faster than one of those baby cans of diet coke that they sell in socialist countries like England before the server has a chance to bring you the extra napkins that you so innocently requested pre-nacho eye-lock. 

I challenge you, however, to proceed with caution and take the time to treasure every moment of sheer delight that each ingredient has to bestow in its own right. You'll thank yourself later (and potentially avoid popping the button off of your skinnies from consuming paradise too fast).

Arbitrary and Highly Subjective Nacho Rating Scale Rank: #1 bitches.