In burritos, as in life in general, it's what you don't do that people remember. Your girlfriend remembers the time that you forgot to send her flowers on your five-month anniversary. Your children are mad at you because you didn't show up to their fourth-grade play. Your parents are irritated because you didn't become President at age 30 (well, maybe that's irrational).
And today at La Parrilla, the annals will record that it's what they didn't do that mattered. I'm not going to remember their perfectly-spiced chicken, heavenly grilled tortilla, or perfectly melted cheese. What I'm going to remember is that they forgot to put salsa in. There was no salsa in my burrito. And, they only had a touch of guac. This was a giant come-down from my last visit, and I'm hoping that it is an aberration.
And today at La Parrilla, the annals will record that it's what they didn't do that mattered. I'm not going to remember their perfectly-spiced chicken, heavenly grilled tortilla, or perfectly melted cheese. What I'm going to remember is that they forgot to put salsa in. There was no salsa in my burrito. And, they only had a touch of guac. This was a giant come-down from my last visit, and I'm hoping that it is an aberration.
