Idid not put much stock in a Saints victory for their season opener a few weeks back, not after all the predictions for a team with a new head coach and green quarterback room. Instead, my hopes were pinned on nachos, special nachos, for a personal tradition that abets Sunday gamedays as nonnegotiable social time, no matter the score.

I rolled into a friend’s house for that first watch party ready to serve my Mrs.-Mary-McNulty-Is-Having-Company-Over-in-the-1980s Nachos.

These are the exact type my mother would make when entertaining on a weekend night at home, when I was a kid looking on, learning what adult friendships and hospitality looked like.

Fielding these nostalgic nachos again entailed stops at three groceries before finding the requisite round tortilla chips, and time-consum

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