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Frito pie
Frito pie falls squarely in the realm of trash food, which isn't to say it doesn't have wondrous charms.  Tear open a bag of Fritos, dump on a pile of chili and a sprinkling of cheese, and tuck in, quick. No plates, please. Brilliant.

Chili Corn Chip Casserole
Burke / Triolo Productions via PictureArts
Bake it in a casserole if you must, but most Texas football fans will root for the chili-in-bag option.

At least two creation myths exist for this humble delicacy, and good luck resolving them.

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The more official of the two is rooted in Texas. Dallas-based Frito-Lay has at times attributed the invention to Daisy Dean Doolin, mother of founder Elmer Doolin. Elmer Doolin founded the company in 1932, his mom cooked the first Fritos chips in her kitchen and the official tale dates Frito pie back nearly that far. Certainly, the pie (which is really anything but a pie) has been satisfying Texas football spectators for decades.

Legend No. 2 is based farther west, in Santa Fe, N.M.,  where Teresa Hernandez, a worker at a Woolworth's lunch counter, is said to have concocted it in the '60s. Such is the power of this tale that the same downtown counter — the Woolworth's long gone — still serves it up.

What's the secret behind the pie? In 1986, writer Michael Hilton posited one theory in Texas Monthly that “the Frito retains its crispness even when chock-full of grease. Try chili on top of potato chips, if you don't believe me. In fact, try chili with Doritos or Tostitos or any one of the other, dry corn chips. It won't do. The Frito has integrity.”

As does Frito pie. Almost crazily simple, yet capable of inducing a lifetime worth of cravings, it's the perfect example of how the delicious whole can be greater than the sum of its greasy parts.


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