Richard Montañez: Flamin' Hot Fraud or Flavor God? So, let me set the scene. You've got this guy, Richard Montañez, who started out as a humble janitor at Frito-Lay and skyrocketed to fame by claiming he was the culinary genius behind Flamin' Hot Cheetos—the spicy snack that has burned the mouths (and stomach linings) of millions. But, much like biting into one too many of these fiery corn puffs, his rags-to-riches tale left us feeling a little… queasy. Montañez's story was the stuff of legend: a Cinderella tale where instead of a glass slipper, we've got a bag of spicy Cheetos, and instead of a prince, we've got PepsiCo's executives listening to a janitor's revolutionary pitch. According to him, he took inspiration from Mexican street food and his cultural heritage. Cue Hollywood, right? Literally. Eva Longoria directed the biopic, so this narrative was red-hot. But, oh boy, hold your fire extinguisher. Enter the Los Angeles Times like a bucket of cold water to throw over this spicy fairy tale. Turns out, Montañez didn't invent Flamin' Hot Cheetos. Nope. The whole thing was more fiction than fact, like if Hans Christian Andersen had a weird snack obsession. Frito-Lay itself stepped in, like, "Yeah… about that," and told the Times that "None of our records show Richard was involved in any capacity in the Flamin' Hot test market." Ouch. That's the snack world equivalent of pulling the rug out from under a Dorito's triangle. It gets worse—Lynne Greenfeld, a Frito-Lay employee, was actually the one who did lead the creation of the spicy snack in 1989. It's like someone claiming to be the inventor of electricity while Ben Franklin's there, kite and key in hand, saying, "Excuse me?" But here's the twist—this man's boldness is hotter than the Cheetos themselves. Montañez kept running with his story, earning up to $50,000 for speaking engagements, writing memoirs, and being immortalized in the aforementioned Longoria-directed film. He might not have invented Flamin' Hot Cheetos, but he sure knew how to sell a good origin story. In a way, you can't help but admire it. The guy took the snack aisle equivalent of Bigfoot and sold it as gospel. He wasn't just eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos, he became one: polarizing, fiery, and unforgettable. So next time you pop open a bag of these nuclear-red, crunchy napalm nuggets, remember: the true story behind them might not be as spicy as the myth, but it's just as wild.