Burritophile.com

I'm a bit late to piling on to this cause, but...this is important to those of you who live in L.A. and love your burritos and tacos to come in convenient, wheeled kitchens. Some curmudgeons down there are trying to essentially legislate taco trucks out of existence. Some locals have started a campaign against this patently ridiculous legislation, and they've come up with the best slogan in the history of mankind:

Carne Asada Is Not A Crime.

If they come for the taco trucks, will the taquerias be next? Click and sign the petition!

It's pretty hard to take a burrito on most varieties of public transportation around here - food is banned on MUNI and BART, and you wouldn't want to eat much on either of those anyway, as your burrito would end up all over the place. Caltrain, however, allows food and drinks. I happened to be heading back up to the city this morning, I was hungry, and the new-ish La Bamba was right on the way to the train station.

I ordered my super al pastor, got it in three minutes, chucked it into my backpack, and made my train on time. The car was crowded - they were playing the Kentucky Derby at Bay Meadows, and Maker Faire is on - so I had to sit up top in a cramped seat. No matter - delicious pastor and liberal doses of guacamole make up for most problems. I'll be doing this again, oh yes.

I had kind of a crummy afternoon, involving losing my favorite coffee mug, wanting to mail a letter only to find that the mailbox at San Francisco State has been removed (what? How does that happen?), and feelings of general self-loathing due to a bunch of scheduling mistakes I've made and overwork as I try to finish grad school in the next three weeks. I stalked into El Castillito to improve my mood. I was a little worried because their beans looked abnormally pale, but my worries were unfounded. Those geniuses behind the counter came through again, with a chock full o'pastor slab that had me singing hosannas in my kitchen. Thanks, guys. It's burritos like this that help a guy quell the bedtime demons.

We had a bit of a burritophilic hiking trip going on this past weekend - burritophile Aaron and I joined up with the Burritoeater to hike the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail, ending up down on Waddell Beach. On the way up to start the hike, we'd noticed a new addition to the scene in the tiny hamlet of Davenport: the friendly door of Taqueria El Jarro.

The girl behind the counter was duly impressed with the Burritophile shirt that Burritoeater was wearing (don't ask - we don't like to pimp our own sites), and I was duly impressed by the titanic super al pastor they put down on my plate. Fantastic burrito, guys. If you're beaching or hiking down the coast, don't miss it!

Once again, I went in with a spirit of optimism. I couldn't possibly be let down yet again, could I? The Universe would not, for the umpteenth time, dash the Clinton of my hopes against the crags and crevasses of Obama, would it? Surely not?

Well, it did. I went into a sit-down Mexican restaurant and ordered a burrito instead of tamales or enchiladas. I always think, "heck, they're charging eight bucks for it, so it must be pretty good, right? And I get tortilla soup!"

Wrong. The carnitas were bland, the tortilla was bland, the beans were bland... Not impressive, although the chips and salsa were kinda okay.

The next time I am of a mind to do this, somebody stop me. I obviously am not good with applying past experience to future performance.