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The Best Loaded Vegan Nachos — When the Taco Spirit Takes Over the Whole Spread

Phoenix in late June is not a place for the faint of heart. It was 115 degrees on Tuesday. The sidewalk could cook an egg — I know this because Sofia asked, so we tried, and it worked, and she was simultaneously delighted and horrified and refused to eat eggs for three days afterward. The desert in summer is a furnace, relentless and indifferent, and the only reasonable response is to stay inside with the AC cranked or stand outside at a grill because apparently I have no survival instincts.

I grill in summer because I grill in every season. This is non-negotiable. Jessica thinks I'm insane. Roberto thinks I'm his son. Both are correct. The key to summer grilling in Phoenix is hydration, shade, and accepting that you will sweat through your shirt in eleven minutes. I have a ramada over the grill area — Roberto helped me build it when we moved in — and I keep a cooler of water and Gatorade within arm's reach. The food cooks fast in this heat, which is either an advantage or a hazard depending on your attention span.

This week's project: al pastor. Real al pastor, or as close as I can get without a trompo. I spent two days on the marinade: guajillo and ancho chiles, rehydrated and blended with achiote paste, pineapple juice, vinegar, garlic, cumin, oregano, and a splash of orange juice. Pork shoulder, sliced thin, layered in the marinade overnight. Then grilled over high heat with pineapple rings until the edges caramelize and the whole thing smells like Mexico City at midnight.

I've never been to Mexico City. Roberto has. He went once, in 1982, before I was born, and he talks about the street tacos like other men talk about religious experiences. "The al pastor, mijo — they shave it off the spit and it falls onto the tortilla and the pineapple is on top and you eat it standing on the street and it changes you." He's told me this story approximately four hundred times. I never get tired of it.

My version was good. Not Mexico City good — I may never achieve Mexico City good — but backyard-in-Phoenix good, which is its own category. Jessica, who has come a long way from the woman who cried at a taco truck, pronounced it "incredible" and ate four tacos, which is her personal record. Sofia ate the pineapple and left the pork. Diego ate whatever we put in front of him because Diego is the least picky eater in the family, possibly because he spent his first year eating sand and Cheerios and has no standards.

New Captain duties start July 1st. Five days away. I've been going over the crew roster, the shift schedules, the equipment checks. The administrative side of leadership is the part nobody romanticizes — the paperwork, the performance reviews, the budget meetings — but it's the skeleton that holds the whole thing together. I'll miss being on the truck. But I won't miss the toll it takes on my body. The knee knows.

After two days of marinade work and a sweat-soaked afternoon at the grill, I had al pastor on my mind for the rest of the week — the flavors, the layering, the way every component has a job to do. That same instinct for building something bold out of simple parts is exactly what drew me to nachos as a follow-up project. These loaded vegan nachos are the weeknight version of that same festive energy: everything piled high, every bite different, Sofia actually eating more than just the pineapple. Roberto hasn’t weighed in yet, but I have a feeling he’ll approve.

The Best Loaded Vegan Nachos

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 1 large bag (about 12 oz) thick-cut tortilla chips
  • 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 can (15 oz) pinto beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 cup frozen or fresh corn kernels
  • 1 cup store-bought or homemade salsa
  • 1 cup vegan shredded cheddar cheese
  • 1 medium red onion, finely diced
  • 1 medium jalapeño, thinly sliced
  • 1 medium avocado, diced
  • 1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
  • 1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
  • 2 tablespoons lime juice (about 1 large lime)
  • 1 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • Salt and black pepper to taste
  • Vegan sour cream, for serving
  • Hot sauce, for serving

Instructions

  1. Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 400°F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet (or two) with parchment paper or foil for easy cleanup.
  2. Season the beans. In a medium bowl, combine the black beans, pinto beans, cumin, smoked paprika, garlic powder, a pinch of salt, and a pinch of black pepper. Stir to coat evenly.
  3. Build the first layer. Spread half the tortilla chips in an even layer across the prepared baking sheet. Scatter half the seasoned beans, half the corn, and half the vegan cheese over the chips.
  4. Add the second layer. Top with the remaining chips, then the remaining beans, corn, and vegan cheese. Press gently so the layers stay together during baking.
  5. Bake. Transfer the baking sheet to the oven and bake for 12—15 minutes, until the cheese is fully melted and the edges of the chips are beginning to toast and deepen in color.
  6. Make the quick pico. While the nachos bake, toss together the diced red onion, cherry tomatoes, cilantro, and lime juice in a small bowl. Season with salt to taste and set aside.
  7. Top and finish. Remove the nachos from the oven. Immediately scatter the jalapeño slices, diced avocado, and the fresh pico de gallo evenly over the top.
  8. Serve. Drizzle with vegan sour cream and hot sauce at the table. Serve straight from the pan while hot and let everyone dig in.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 58g | Fiber: 11g | Sodium: 620mg

Marcus Rivera
About the cook who shared this
Marcus Rivera
Week 118 of Marcus’s 30-year story · Phoenix, Arizona
Marcus is a Phoenix firefighter, a husband, a dad of two, and the kind of guy who'd hand you a plate of brisket before he'd shake your hand. He grew up watching his father Roberto grill carne asada every Sunday in the backyard, and that tradition runs through everything he cooks. He's won a couple of local BBQ competitions, built an outdoor kitchen his wife calls "the altar," and feeds his fire crew on every shift. For Marcus, cooking isn't a hobby — it's how he shows up for the people he loves.

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