Truth Is An Absolute Defense For Any Claims Of Defamation.

With a title like that, you just know this isn't going to be a glowing review.

I'm visiting the rents here in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. I wanted to do some burritoblogging, but dad refused to loan me keys to the car. That might sound unreasonable to those of you who know my age, but those of you who've seen me behind the wheel know that he made the right choice. I hadn't told him about the burritos and only when he offered to drive me to my originally purported destination did I tell him that all I wanted to do was drive a car and eat a burrito.

And so we ended up at Tres Rios, 2801 N. 5th Street Highway, Reading, PA 19605. The chips and salsa weren't offensively bad, but the menu tipped me off as to how bad things would be. They had gringo food for breakfast. There was no carnitas burrito. Hell, you couldn't even order a burrito by itself. This wasn't a fancy authentic place that only served it like they do south of the border; they just knew that their burritos couldn't withstand individual scrutiny. I ordered the Special Lunch #7 : Chicken burrito topped with lettuce, cheese and sour cream. The waitress asked if I wanted chicken or beef, so I switched to beef.

There was a Taco Bell down the road. My dad, not a huge fan of Mexican food, thought I wanted to go there. By the end of the meal, we both regretted lunching where we did. I didn't think I'd ever write this, but I can't see how this place stays in business with a Taco Bell nearby. A mass of lettuce approached my table, topped with ropes of sour cream squeezed through one of those things that they use to put icing on cakes. That's disgusting. Be thankful that I didn't have a cameraperson along with me this time. Underneath the lettuce, I found that the tortilla was not tucked in at the ends, just sloppily rolled around the innards of the alleged "burrito." Unacceptable. The astute reader might question my use of the word "alleged." "What manner of upfuckery," you ask, "is necessary to catapult a meal from 'horrible burrito' to 'not a burrito at all?'" Well, let me tell you.

THERE WERE NO BEANS. BURRITOS HAVE BEANS.This thing didn't even contain a partially hydrogenated bean paste substitute. The filling consisted of nothing but overseasoned ground beef. The overseasoning gave every indication that it originated in a packet, or whatever restaurants use when they outgrow the packet but aren't ready to make the leap to preparing their own damn food. Also? The promised cheese was nowhere to be found. In its place was half a slice of tomato. The tomato didn't taste bad, so I assume it's planning to kill me in my sleep. As far as I'm concerned, los Tres Rios son Veneno, el Diablo, y la Muerte.

Trying Again

Since the nuclear salsa fizzled yesterday, I'm going to use Dave's Insanity Sauce today. I got a burrito from Baja Taqueria, 4070 Piedmont Ave, Biggity Biggity O. I got a rice and bean burrito, as they don't have a pork burrito. Hence, not only is this NOT the Baja review, there's unlike to be a Baja review at all. I'll have to unwrap the burrito, apply the sauce and rewrap it, so my hands are likely to get too messy to liveblog this experiment. I'm just going to apply 6 drops and let you know whether I destroy the weaponized burrito or vice versa.

I won. The burrito drew tears, though. If you try this at home, be very careful not to wipe the tears off with your hands, as incidental exposure of your eyes to any amount of Dave's Insanity Sauce will end with you on the ground wishing that gloom and deep darkness claim the day in which you were born.

This Is Not A Burrito Review

I caught a bit of a cold and still can't taste well enough to adequately assess burritos. Instead, I'll be grading High Tech Burrito's nuclear salsa's ability to melt the snot that's clogging my sinuses on a pass/no pass basis. They'll get extra credit for making me cry. The burrito I'm using as a salsa vector conforms to the burritology standards -- pork, pinto beans, no sour cream/guac/cheese, but this is NOT the HTB review. That will come later. This is just an exercise in extreme picante liveblogging.

The foil has been torn.

First bite. Mostly tortilla. Excess tortilla isn't really a problem, it keeps burrito juice from leaking out of the bottom.

Second bite. I can detect hints of the nuclear salsa I used to eat so much more frequently when I lived near an HTB, but I either didn't get much of it or it's been weakened.

Third bite. Come to think of it, it was quite a hike from HTB back here. Maybe the salsa settled to the bottom.

Fourth bite. There's that heat!

Fifth bite. Mostly rice. Oh, HTB gives you more options than most places. If you wish to recreate this exact burrito, it's a regular pork burrito on a white tortilla with pinto beans, spanish rice and (of course) nuclear salsa. No extras.

Sixth bite. My nose is running.

Seventh bite. I thought I'd be crying by now. Oh well.

Eighth bite. Yeah, this stuff is still way hot.

Ninth bite. It seems that the salsa adheres mostly to the beans, while the pork and rice remain relatively dry. This bite was mostly beans.

Tenth bite. I'm getting a warm feeling in my stomach.

Eleventh bite. I highly suggest that you consume your first nuclear burrito at HTB. They have pitchers of icewater with slices of lemon. It's the best drink for mitigating heat, of both the picante and caliente varieties.

Twelfth bite. Isn't that a play?

Thirteenth bite. I don't know if I'm getting used to the salsa or if there was a big glob in the middle without much towards the ends.

Fourteenth bite. I don't think they're getting any extra credit.

Fifteenth bite. I pause to pick pork out of teeth. I'm allowed to do this because I'm alone in my apartment in my underwear.

Sixteenth bite. No, it's nothing perverted. I just don't have to wash clothes as frequently this way.

Seventeenth bite. Only two bites left. Or maybe I could cram the rest into my mouth all at once.

Eighteenth bite. Mmph, aghh crmphd t ll n.

Well, let's see if I'm still full of snot.

I am. Sorry, HTB. You failed.

Is It Over Already?

Casa Latina MAY ALREADY BE A WINNER!
















That's 1805 San Pablo Avenue, in the Berk.

I first spotted Casa Latina sometime last fall. A friend and I were returning from a kitten-acquisition expedition to Chico, where we had consumed some rather disappointing burritos, when I spotted a burreatery that I had somehow not noticed before. Under the pretenses of going to Everett & Jones' while she bought kitten food, I dashed a block up San Pablo to satisfy a hunger only the second burrito of the day could fill. The Casa was the first and only place I've found that asadas the carne after you order it : they toss the raw (perhaps marinated, I didn't look or ask) meat onto a retired-boxeresque grill with some olive oil. Check it out :


















I decided to make the best find of my last quest the first stop on this one. I should have guessed that the creative expertise of these burrito ninjas wouldn't be limited to one item on the menu. Look at that carnitas burrito. Look at it, I suggested before I got the photos and realized, a day too late, that I had covered up the tantalizing chunk of pork in the center with salsa. You still get an eyeful,

















thanks to my lovely dining companion, photographer, and mangled-burrito rearranger, but you'll have to imagine the part where your tongue encounters tender meat while your teeth meet actual resistance. Is that . . . texture? In a carnitas burrito? Why yes it is. The salsa was reasonably hot and tangy, the rice and beans worth scooping up after they fell out of the burrito, the tortilla and/or the folding thereof more than up to the task of withstanding the liquid onslaught that is a carnitas filling and the chips, well, I don't remember the chips because oh my God, these carnitas, these carnitas, burritoheads, oh my God, these carnitas, oh my God!

















I liked the carnitas.

The place is delightful, probably flung entirely intact from Solano or College to San Pablo via some freakish east bay tornado. Tasteful decor, outdoor seating, latin rhythms at sub-blaring levels and all sorts of pastries for people with room left over after a burrito. Are you reading, Takeru Kobayashi? Sonya Thomas? Badlands Booker?

It Begins

"If I had to choose one word to describe you, it would be 'burrito.'"

- my old roommate Dave

I eat burritos. Lots of them. From tiny frozen burritos you can buy in $2.50 10-packs to fresh delicious behemoths dripping with lard and guacamole, I've tried them all. Or so I thought. Some time last fall, I boasted that I had eaten a burrito from every burreatery (it is so a word) within five miles of UC Berkeley. On the way home, a horrible thought struck me : what if I was wrong? I earnestly set out in search of a carne asada burrito I hadn't tasted yet and found quite a few. After a few weeks, however, the search became more difficult. I finally decided that my quest was complete enough when a 3 1/2 hour hunt through Oakland ended at a burrito truck on International Boulevard. "No más," came the plaintive cry from my aching feet. I no longer insisted on novelty and began frequenting the local burreateries again. Then I came across The Great Taco Hunt and realized I'd have to start from scratch, this time blogging carnitas burritos. My journey starts in little over an hour.