A good nacho is a thing of beauty. A bad nacho is, well, common. And it's no different here in Mazatlan, since nachos are not a Mexican food. They are, in fact, a Tex-Mex creation. Legend has their birth in a small restaurant along the Rio Grande in the mid 1900s.

I have had every version of nachos imaginable, from the simple to the extravagant. And very often, what I am served falls short of my expectations. You see, I know what a perfect nacho is.

In a lot of restaurants, you get nachos made by some lazy cook who has access to way too many toppings. You know what I am talking about: you get a giant plate with a deep layer of commercial tortilla chips scattered haphazardly, and then topped with a slop of way too many ingredients: beans (which are watered down so they can be dropped on with a giant spoon), beef, chicken, cheese, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, sour cream, guacamole, and jalapeños. And that's just basic nachos. While that may make a pretty good taco salad, it's not good nachos.

The worst part of this style of nachos is there is no way to eat them. The top chips are so laden with gooey ingredients that they become soggy and fall apart. How do you gracefully get a limp chip covered in goo to your mouth? The bottom chips are always dry and devoid of any flavor adding topping. Why would anyone order such a thing?

Of course, the over-topped nachos are not the worst. That title goes to the kind of "nachos" that I am embarrassed to admit were born in my home town. An entrepreneur (or idiot – you pick) named Frank Liberto covered commercial chips with cheese food from a pump – a pump - and called them nachos. He made sure to get some into the hands of Howard Cosell during a Texas Rangers baseball game at Arlington Stadium, and a legend was born. You can buy this pale imitation at every 7-11 across the globe.

No, the perfect nacho is elegant in it's simplicity. Chip, beans, cheese – you don't need anything else. Happily enough, I can get just such a nacho a bare 5 minute walk from my font door, at Puerto Viejo. They know how to make nachos.

At Puerto Viejo, they don't start with commercial chips. They make the tortilla chips fresh, from actual tortillas, for each order. Then, each chip is given loving attention, individually spread with just the right amount of beans. Finally, each chip is given the perfect amount of Chihuahua cheese and put under a broiler just long enough to melt the cheese to a creamy consistency.

The nachos aren't thrown willy-nilly on a plate, either. The chips are presented in a single layer, accessible and easy to eat. If you like a little embellishment, they also give you a bowl of Salsa Mexicana (diced tomato, onion, jalapeño, and cilantro), and a bowl of fiery salsa for those with a spicier palate.

Mmmmmmmm...nachos!