These things have a smell radius of about 5 feet, so you know they're headed your way. They come in a triangular prism box, four poppers per. They're darker in color and denser than anticipated. I imagined an orange-ish color, but really, they're more the hue of cooked chicken patties. And they're not as gooey/crumbly as I'd expected of a product made of cheese stuffs and crushed up Doritos. But perhaps that's a matter of how long they're cooked -- I'd say these ones were medium, where rare is an icy nacho brick, and well-done is a smoldering Dorito-cheese grenade.
And about that density: I bit in to find a yellow-ish cheese inner. There's no Doritos crunch to speak of. Really, it's more akin to a mozzarella stick coated in Doritos dust. It tastes like your standard American cheese single, but perhaps skewing toward the Cheddar side. From there, you really get a flavor that resembles the patties on the spicy chicken sandwich my high school (shoutout, Mentor High Cardinal Café!) served in its cafeteria. Which is to say: it's full of spices resembling Doritos, quite salty, and in all likelihood, containing a product within that only partially resembles its claimed source. In this case, that's cheese. In high school, it was chicken meat.
As one Thrillist staffer said, "The outside is pretty good, but the inside is the worst thing to ever happen to me." Which, is what we call hyperbole in the wordsmith biz, but reflects the fact these snacks would have benefited from further cooking. Nothing a microwave couldn't solve, of course.
You can down each popper in probably three bites; two if you're hangry; one if you're disgusting.
Seriously, chew your food, you animal.