Written by Sal Savirdy
Costco, and my inner monologue is schizophrenic; a practical Sal Savirdy that wants to make bulk purchases and an angry one who is reprimanding her more vulnerable counterpart for a flippant Costco membership, completed out of a combination of curiosity and blind ignorance. The 'practical Sal' has recognized that the year membership will be up in a month and feels the wanton impetus to utilize the warehousey hell-hole. The angry one would better spend her afternoon at the nearest bar or getting a fuck capitalism tattoo or something.
The Costco experience can only be described as SHOPPING CARTS and the checkered neon imprint they have surely etched on to all inner eyelids. Eyelids that, for the duration of the shopping experience, are pinned back in a kind of frenzied glare at the other frightened consumers in a sort of mutual communication of the terrifying prospect of a mistaken mass-purchased item. Practical Sal purchases a bulk haul of batteries and a bruised ego and crawls desperately toward the exit. Angry Sal prays there isn't a misplaced receipt-for-exit, because by this point, the result would be that she dramatically abandons the paid goods and navigates the line like Crocodile Dundee, climbing towards his true love in a subway station, and then everyone would see she has bad shoes.
EXIT INTO THE LIGHT, eyes bloodshot and soul eroded, practical Sal vows to salvage the experience in the traditional younger-woman-who-is-appealing-to their/their alter ego angry Sal's-emotional-well-being-and-therefore-must-comfort-eat-but-actually-not-the-stupid-ice cream-tub-misrepresentation (mine's routinely a slab of brie actually) kind of way.
All hail SOMA StrEAT Food Park and it's extremely convenient geographical positioning. All Hail Burr-Eatery for it's decision to be here when I am here too with my angry alter-ego. And once arrived, give your sweaty bangs a flick to one side of your forehead and take a moment to breathe, because this is NOT Costco, there are no shopping carts and items are not wedged all together in a plastic sheath. Quite believably, most people here actually look like they are enjoying themselves (perhaps despite the piped, slightly-too-loud motown).
The Burr- Eatery van is SMALL (hooray for not big things/bulk items) and so are their burritos; but they are big on taste. The meat is wonderfully marinated and the more traditional style, thinner and stretchy-translucent tortilla, along with the unusual scale of this burrito make for a (dare I say) spring-roll like experience. However, unlike a spring roll, the Burr-Eatery burrito has a rich tomatoey taste. It would also have been completely sufficient had the apetite not been quite so, well, angry. However, having been ravaged by the Costco experience of all product gargantuanness, both practical and angry Sal are all for the petite. No one really needs mass bathroom tissue purchases, just like no one really needs exorbitant scale Mexican food stuffs.
America has a problem of proselytizing over-consumption in most areas of life. We are told we need bigger, better TV's, better houses, MORE SUCCESS and ultimately, BIGGER burritos. We need to have more of everything except for that of hiatus, or of simple contemplation, of the enjoyment of small and not mass pleasures. Of the moment before you eat a little burrito outside a little van in a little square. Of enjoying just a little of anything without wanting for more, or complaining that someone else got a better version.
Ideologically, Burr-Eatery is spearheading a way towards a more sophisticated eating experience and both Sal's approve.
(It's just that they're so small, and so delicious, you might want to buy two).