Taqueria Talavera, Solano Ave., Albany

Written By Casey Deeha

Recently, my son - for his birthday - requested some rather expensive basketball shoes associated in some spurious way to Lebron James. While, at eleven years old, his skills as a young player are developing very well, I find justifying such an expense very difficult - I should think that Lebron himself might concede that he would play close to his current form wearing some Air Jordans from the good ol' '80s... I explain to my son that those shoes were most likely crafted by an eleven year old - very unlike himself - somewhere in Indonesia in the eleventh hour of this boy's arduous shift. And that perhaps shortly after he helped weave that final stitch of the L in Lebron's name across the heal of the shoe, that he most likely finished the Rebok shoe for some other overly paid sporting star - that, indeed, these shoes are mostly made in similar if not the same factory. "Appearance is not everything," I said as a responsible father as I curl my toes within my Campers.

Is it everything? I'd like to think that I adopt the function-is-aesthetic philosophy from the lovely modernists. However, it's not necessarily that easy is it...

Regardless, when one walks into Taqueria Talavera, one is confronted by a rather pleasing aesthetic - I was excited for the salsa bar looked well groomed... For anyone who puts this much effort into the aesthetic must equal the amount of effort put into the taste of their burritos.

I confess - I have been here twice. On the first occasion, I ordered the veggie; on the second the fish burrito. In both instances, I was very excited given the atmosphere - thinking that I would sit to have a feast that would rival taquerias in the likes of El Faro or La Cumbre tucked away on Solano ave., buried within the depths on Albany. In both instances, unfortunately, I was disappointed. The burritos were much like a packed buffet of a burrito ingredients, in the hopes that the size would compensate for the lack of originality which I hoped would equal the decor. I still had a modest enjoyment of these burritos, but in the first instance, the veggie was bland and the fish, like many fish burritos, was sequestered amidst a sea of rice, beans and veggies.

I left slightly unsatisfied but not upset. I peered down at my shoes and thought, 'I should just buy those damn shoes for my son'.

Salsa Rating: Disappointingly Mild  

The Burrito Eater Is Calling Curtains!

Written by Casey Deeha

Our esteemed colleague and respected brother-in-arms is calling time on his decade long burrito reviewing experiment. During his tenure, Charles Hodgkins will have reviewed one thousand burritos - that's 1000 for those who hate numerals spelled out. A remarkable feat.

We wish him well and will hold a vigil for the legacy he has provided to us burrito afficianados. To Charles, we say this: we shall continue your experiment and while we may not adopt your systematic grading process, we shall extend your territory to the Everest of burrito viewing - the Bay!

For an excellent overview of Charles' fine-tuned burrito knowledge, read Rose Garrett's interview for The Eater San Francisco.

We wish you well!

Avatar's Punjabi Burritos, Mill Valley, Marin

Written By Casey Deeha

When Darwin, on one fateful day, decided to publish the Origin of Species, he brought into the consciousness of humanity a recognition that we change as a reaction to our changing environment - we evolve. What I find startling about this revelation is that the act of evolution, that is - the actual happening of evolution was an event that was always taking place... Darwin simply recognized it and gave it a name. However, to recognize this event gave our species power - a power to react to our own reaction to the changing environment: to, in a sense, choose our own evolutionary path.

Indeed, the culinary landscape is constantly changing and shifting to meet our ever merging cultural needs. The supposed 'fusion' restaurant is ever more ubiquitous and has become a staple characteristic of the culinary side of California. In the UK, serving a green or yellow Thai curry in pubs is common place despite the incredibly disparate political connection between the two countries (the king of Thailand used to own Manchester City FC at one point but that's about it). This 'fusion' of national foods only reflects (hopefully) the fusion of our cultures. However - the question is there: is this culinary adaptation a positive change?

I mean - who am I or any of us to fight the winds change. At Avatar's Punjabi Burritos, I found an Indian and Mexican cuisine mixed in a California bowl courtesy of the tortilla as an intermixed DNA. I introduce you to the curried chicken burrito: wrapped in whole wheat Indian bread includes fresh curried garbanzo beans, basmati rice, fresh herb salsa, seasonal fruit chutney, carrot pickle, non-fat yogurt and tamarind sauce. Interesting - isn't it. And where some purists may argue that this is no burrito, I say don't be surprised if you find yourself falling off the culinary evolutionary chain at some point. Embrace the change.

The burrito itself was satisfying and, indeed, it did taste like a chicken curry stuffed within a tortilla. In a way, I would prefer some more 'fusion' - more mixing of the DNA. Perhaps throw in some avocado or pico de gallo as it is very similar to the 'fresh herb salsa'... and what about some cheese? I suppose that at some point we have a world where everyone looks similar from thousands of years of interracial mixing - and similarly I want a time where the Indian and Mexican cuisines can combine to create the perfect hybrid. On top of this, the decor and ambiance of the place was severely lacking amdist an area dripping with wealth. 

I suppose Darwin never had this in mind when floating on the trusty Beagle.

   

Salsa Rating: Warmly Satisfying 

Rubios, Bay Street Emeryville Mall, Emeryville

Written By Casey Deeha

For anyone who has read my review of Los Cantaros in Emeryville, will know that the area has certainly come a long way since the title 'mudflats' was the suitable name for the location. Even passing through the twentieth century, Emeryville, as an area of the Bay, took on various personas as a less desirable destination for the inquisitive local. In fact, from 1939 to 1970, amongst the various industries that ruled Emeryville with an iron fist, the area was famously known for a massive animated neon sign showing a can of red paint tilting, spilling and covering a globe of the earth, with the slogan "We Cover the Earth" which sat atop of the Sherwin-Williams paint company' s factory. This rather Dr. Eckleburg's-Eyes-esque harbinger of profit adorned and dominated the East Bay as city goers passed into San Francisco.

I can run with metaphorical significance of the imagery here, but reluctantly refrain. Needless to say, the Bay Street Mall poses no real difference as a  harbinger to those about to pass the cathedral-like east span of the new bridge. Thus, the question looms however: has Emeryville improved?

Today we have the illustrious Bay Street Mall, a monolithic representation of what ensnares gentrification - a hodge podge of various colored buildings that bare more resemblance to Main Street USA at Disneyland than a veritable collection of new-build apartments with accompanying chain stores; at least Disneyland is honest in its intention. Buried within the 'food court' of this mass is Rubio's - a chain among chains of the Mexican culinary genre. And for those readers who are familiar with my thematic oeuvre will know that I approach this pseudo-taqueria very cynically. As an afficinado however, I am bound by the creed of my people - to approach burritos without prejudgement.

For all those who are in the know, Rubio's is known for their fish tacos and I take this into consideration as a Burrito Afficianado. I order the beer battered fish burrito with black beans. The salsa bar is meager but the 'red salsa' will suffice. I order and patiently take my place in the outside patio to turn my Eckleburg eyes on the Wasteland of Emeryville. Eager shoppers pass by equipped with their Gap and ibags completely unaware of my ninja presence - I think quickly of the great moment in Invasion of the Body Snatchers when Donald Southerland's character realized that they can walk amongst inhabited bodies by taking away the human gestures that otherwise convey emotion. I sit blandly and unhappily. I fit in perfectly. My fish burrito arrives and I crack a slight smile and worry that the alien infestation can smell my human emotion. I quickly take a bite - pure tortilla. I take another and, for fear of my sanity by being in such a place longer than I must, I finish the burrito in one fell swoop. I swallow, sit back and contemplate for I am pleasantly surprised. It's not bad. In fact, I quite enjoyed the burrito for the fish was well battered and remained the central piece of the ensemble given that many fish burritos allow too many ingredients to dominate the main protagonist as in my experience of The Burrito Shop in Oakland. The fish is crispy and light and works with the heat of the day.

I say well done Rubios and begin to consider a trip to the friggin i-store below. Is there an alien conversion taking place within my soul - am I falling into the collective... was there in fact a sense of relief when I find that Donald Southerland's character in the last shot of the film has been finally amalgamated into the hive?

I'm. Not. Sure.

Salsa Rating: Surprisingly and Moderately Hot

Cactus Cafe, Etc..., Oak Rd, Walnut Creek

Written by Casey Deeha

The monolithic industry desserts are the new landscapes which are producing the infamous 'reverse commutes'. It as if the gods of modernity said: 'it's much to easy for these mere mortals to navigate a one way traffic commute that is all too predictable - let's give them a challenge'... and boom - we have drab commerce buildings masquerading as modernist architecture growing like Chia Pets in places such as Walnut Creek, Pleasanton, Livermore, Danville and the like.

But Lo! Workers of the Bay unite - at least those workers with an inkling of culture who cling to the idea that they are not cattle to be herded into the city center for the god of industry; rather - they reverse their commute to the suburban tract desserts to whittle their working day away safely anonymous within sterile office layouts.

It is here where I lay our latest burrito scene - Cactus Cafe - a veritable hodge-podge of various food stuffs, chiefly the Breakfast Burrito.

Characters in business dress shuffle themselves in like well trained ants - one after the other - all complete with blue tooth and clickity clackity shoes. I am skeptical to say the least... I feel like Jason, lost within the labyrinth of these ever expanding homogeneous Borg-like business buildings. Standing in Cactus Cafe, I know that I am tucked away within the innards of one of these behemoths, but have not the real understanding of where I am. For comfort, I opt for the breakfast burrito - the familiar of eggs, bacon, avocado, onion, pico de gallo and cheese surely should yoke my compass for inward direction amidst sameness peppered with profit. I hope but am not optimistic. My cynicism is fueled by these peoples' collective contribution to our financial times. I am patient and give my order hoping the Minotaur is not lurking under the shallow waters of the necessary water features seen through the window - a man takes a drag off a cigarette looking forlorn.

I receive my burrito and sit down at the Ikeaed tables. The ingredients are moderately mixed and the familiar comes rushing back for my identity to remember my own Id - it is 'OK'. Not the best, but what would you expect under such environmental circumstances - who would have a creme de brule in the Arctic? (I would but it would be weird). Not the best breakfast burrito, but satisfies the familiar and I am grateful.

I left searching for different pastures - Oakland beckons.

Salsa Rating - Moderately Warm

Island Taqueria, Park St. Alameda

Written by Casey Deeha

An 'Island' is a fitting image to describe my experience of Island Taqueria by way of analogy. When one thinks of an island, duplicity can deliver two aspects: a paradise and/or a claustrophobic trap. In the first instance, one only has to watch some episodes of Magnum P.I. to relish in Magnum's Hawaii island paradise; in the latter, one can watch Lost to get a good understanding of how an island paradise can become the seventh circle of hell.

I was hopeful for Island Taqueria as it dawned some of the hallmarks of a classic and well-worn taqueria: garish colors, sparse Mexican decorations, and overtly sexual and badly painted images of Aztec men and women. However, my expectation of an island paradise would quickly turn into Aztec hell and I would be left still searching for a decent burrito in the non-metaphorical island of Alameda, which in itself is becoming more of an island of bad burritos. Where the image of the robust Aztec man with a flaming sanguine head dress carrying a voluptuous woman might harness impressions of heroism and pride, I envision a slightly more morose tale of a woman attempting to recover from that crazy man's burrito concoction. It is as if the man loured this innocent woman into his island cave for a first date only to pummel her with what has become only marginally better than the burrito I had at Taqueria Las Comadres II in Montclair, which can now be dubbed the penultimate worst burrito of BARB (Bay Area Review of Burritos). 

It was a promising sight at first given that the size of the burrito was massive. However, upon picking up this island beast, I immediately noticed the gaping spaces inside indicating a very loosely rolled burrito, which was sadly confirmed when picking it up - all (yes all) the contents immediately fell out and I was forced to adjust my burrito eating methods. It wouldn't have mattered - the pinto beans were cold, the cheese wasn't melted, there was too much lettuce, the salsa was bland and there was absolutely no blend, and the tortilla was dry and cold. It was a shameful experience. 

Sal, who was with me, was feeling ill and had her head on the table having opted out of a burrito. I was jealous of her even though she was suffering from nausea, which was some overwhelmingly fitting pathetic fallacy. With Sal's groans and the Aztec man's bludgeoning burrito hell, I wanted to escape this island metaphorically and literally. I only hope that Aztec man walked to the beach with that woman and fell to his knees crying, 'what have I done!?', which coincidentally was what I was saying as I rubbed my stomach and cast my sails for better shores.

Salsa Rating: cold watery salsa

Taqueria Cancun-Sabor Mexicano, 2134 Allston Way, Berkeley

Written by Sal Savirdy

Not having had a personal recommendation for Taqueria Cancun-Sabor Mexicano, I invest in some pre-date online background checks (it's what a girl needs to do nowadays to avoid the creepy guys, right?). My investigation reveals quite the prospective profile.  Not only do the burritos promise to be tasty and original, the sourced ingredients dig deeper than the average Joe; this taqueria uses vegetables from their very own Saldana farm and the extra refined and well- thought out burrito accoutrements include access to a 17 piece salsa bar. 

First date, I want to know where I stand with the basics, and opt for a super chicken and a super veggie burrito (of course I'm going to finish them both).  My food is with me almost immediately, so, add to the already numerically blessed scoreboard the remarkable speed of service and cancun sabor mexicano looks like a sure fire bet to take home to meet the folks. 

The size of the burrito is a little more modest than average but I'm OK with that, sometimes size really doesn't matter and it's what you do with it that counts. Tasting, however, reveals an unexpectedly mediocre burrito on both super chicken and veggie accounts. The chicken has some texturally interesting (if not initially slightly alarming), crunchy elements, but the aspect of super in both burrito cases seems to evade me somewhat (at least give me girth)- there seems to be a marked lack of sour cream or guacamole in either.

What almost salvages the entire experience is the raw indulgence of navigating the salsa bar's 17 varieties. Although the Pumpkin seed salsa, just seems to be nothing other than just revolting, unfortunately, the strawberry is just, fine.

The other way my date tries to distract from his lesser advantages is to get me drunk first. And you can do this quite easily at cancun sabor because marvelously, they have beer on tap. I really mean the marvelously element of this; draft beer is pretty important. 

Maybe he just needs the right woman?

Perhaps I'll give Cancun Sabor a second chance. Given the beautiful interior, farmed vegetables and extensive menu possibilities, it could have just been that there are some ends needed tying up (please not literally) or a bad mix of personalities, but in the world of dating (particularly when dating taquerias) it's hard to find the excuse to give second chances, especially after such a disappointment, when quite frankly, hay muchos peces en el mer.


(And most especially when it's so damned difficult to park nearby).

Salsa rating: potentially the strawberry one.

Chipotle, South Shore Mall, Alameda

Written by Casey Deeha

Why I'm choosing to review Chipotle in Alameda is really beyond me - as an intentionally homogenous chain they really aren't much different from each other. You could perhaps read my review of Chipotle in Oakland to get a drift as to how Chipotle makes me feel like a cow wandering in a slaughter house. Either way, it's another taqueria so why not.

If anything, Chipotle's existence in Alameda could be seen as representative of the inevitability of what Capitalism breeds. Taking Alameda, once a resort town in the early 20th century, one can really see this development - driving along the breadth of the island, you can witness this capitalist evolution through the architecture as the houses evolve from grandiose mock Victorian summer houses to 50s and 60s apartment complexes created by a Utah construction company who were also responsible for the lagoons. Of course, a transition from wealthy Victorian housing to a more suburban-style tract housing may not necessarily be emblematic of any capital pursuits, but perhaps over population and changing trends. The South Shore Mall, however, certainly falls within this category. With many of the well known chains - T.J. Maxx, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Dress Barn, Old Navy, Payless Shoes, and Ross - the capital gavel has been struck. And with Chipotle's presence, South Shore only cements itself as a the source of mass commodification in Alameda.

Stepping into the Chipotle is similar to stepping into the Matrix (more like part three) where I questioned the reality of anything. Once again, I was moved through the very long line at Chipotle like cattle only to be met with the familiar militaristic shouting by the so-called burrito makers. To make a long story short, I doused my burrito in salsa hoping to give it some familiar Mexican-like-happiness but no luck. The burrito was dry and very disappointing.

What's slightly more shocking is my view. I eat my burrito on the Chipotle patio overlooking the mass of Shorline Mall that has come to dominate this part of the island in relation to what was once here: a summer resort town where young strong swimmers used to swim around the guarding wall in order to lap up the luxury of the more affluent beach goers. And while I am pleased to see the dissemination of wealth coming from such class differentiation, commodification of our weekendly pursuits only places us, once again, in the hands of those few who control it.

On weekends, however, there is section of the parking lot dedicated to culinary food trucks - it looks much more inviting and, if my burrito senses serve me correctly, I sensed foiled tubes somewhere in there and will certainly return to more brightly color my perception of the South Shore mall.

I'm bantering on. Don't go to Chipotle; the burritos are a far cry from where they cam from.

Salsa Rating: Mildly Cold

Taqueria La Cumbre, Valencia St., Mission

Written by Casey Deeha -                                                                 The irony of Cinco de Mayo in relation to Taqueria La Cumbre's emblematic image of a scantily dressed woman in a victorious pose (right) presents a certain duplicity that relates to their red chicken burrito. It is, indeed, an interesting image - it is as if the woman won independence for her beloved Mexico purely through sexual means, perhaps propositioning soldiers as she pranced through the battle field donning bullet belts and a 'horn'. What is the image attempting to say? That while Mexico is a proud country, it can only be so with cleavage? I'm not sure, but perhaps the duplicity of Cinco de Mayo celebrations in the US can help to understand this interesting 'double think'. At its root, Cinco de Mayo is a celebration of when the Mexican army over turned the French in Puebla. Surely, that's no easy task, but why has it been so fervently adopted by overly-caffeinated-Starbucks-drinking-white-America? One visit down to Old Town in San Diego, you'll quickly have your answer: it's another excuse to slosh oneself in copious amounts of liquor while inhaling nachos and cheese - SUV driving-backwards-hat-wearing Frat boys love it. Of course, I hazard to to take away any significance of the holiday from the Mexican culture, but there is certainly an inherent duplicity which I find intriguing. You only have to ask a common celebrator of Cinco de Mayo what the holiday is predicated upon and they'll give you answers such as, 'Mexican independence' to 'I don't know'.

In considering this dichotomy, it's only fitting that Sal and I come to Taqueria la Cumbre for our Cinco de Mayo celebratory burrito given that it was rated in 2009 by Maxim as 'one of the best burritos in the nation' (see right). It would seem that La Cumbre can't really escape scantily dressed women in relation to their burritos... but what a treat we would have in store for ourselves. However, the theme of 'duplicity' runs deep and while I can firmly place their veggie burrito within the 'good' Mission Style Burrito category, I certainly can't say the same for the 'Red Chicken' burrito - the chicken was very dry which provided a rough chew. It was a case of what can appear on the outside doesn't necessarily reflect what's on the inside in possibly much the same way as the two women depicted. I mean, what are these two women thinking - 'I'm so happy to have just won independence that I shall show a pseudo-sexual pose and my partial breasts to express this'; 'I'm happy to show sex because that's all I'm worth'? I'm not so sure. 

Having said all this, who says that duplicity is bad; if one turns inward, we'll find duplicity. If you're reading this review on an Apple Mac, for example, ask what duplicity lies buried beneath when considering what 'image' you desiring to adopt while simultaneously considering that Apple exploits tax loopoles to avoid paying over $640 million in California state taxes - roughly the amount that would keep our state universities afloat. But who cares - it's sleek, shiny, runs well and I'm writing on right now. 

Duplicity for all!

Salsa Rating: Veggie Burrito - boarding on hot; Red Chicken Burrito - Mildly Warm.

Gordo Taqueria, Solano Ave., Albany

Composed by Chipp Oatlay

Reading my first couple reviews you might think one of two things: 1) Chipp Oatlay only eats at burrito establishments in gentrified white suburbia, or 2) Chipp is really picky and never has anything positive to say about the burritos he eats because he eats at bougie burrito eateries.  

The latter is partially true.  I will review the burritos I eat with ruthless honesty, and they have been in bougie areas.  If you want to figure out the bouge factor of your local hot spot take the total amount of Sarah Jessica Parker look-alikes herding around the area and divide it by a factor of 10.  With "0" being the lowest score--think downtown Berkeley--and "5" signifying that you probably live in some version of Sex and the City hell.  Downtown Walnut Creek has an average score of 3.7 and a top range of 4.3 on the SJP Index.  When I find myself eating a tasty carne asada burrito in Taqueria Mexican Grill purgatory, I think of Dante's Inferno, hell can always go deeper and the true degradation is unfathomable.  I try to accentuate the positive and rest securely in the knowledge that there are so many places in LA that are much, much worse.

The burrito offers itself to me as a lunchtime solace.  It is for this reason that I have reviewed in Stepford suburbia--my 9 to 5 takes me away from my preferred habitat where the common person thrives.  I do not mean common as in dull or not interesting, but as in the proletariat.  So, utilizing my local knowledge I made my way to Gordo Taqueria on Solano in Albany for dinner one night after work.

 I knew of that for which I had come.  I had planned to depart from the path of the carne asada.  If you are unfamiliar with Gordos and you are not into meatless burritos, then the carnitas is a must.  If you are a carnitas-lover like me, then you are familiar with the variety of carnitas ranging from unfortunately dry to indecently over-spiced.  You also know the ecstasy of the exquisitely well-crafted and succulent carnitas. 

I walk in and immediately to the right is a wall-length cork message board. Maybe you haven't eaten at Gordo Taqueria, but stopped by to look for work or offer your services.   My wife posted babysitter flyers here when she was fourteen and used her earnings to enjoy Gordo's well-made delights.  I love the message board because it gives a voice to the community and I appreciate some of the really weird shit that gets posted--"Reiki healing in exchange for childcare"--and I realize I  missed the most recent Capleton show--damn.  I should have come in two weeks ago!

Opposite the message board, there is a wall-length mural of a festival in a small Mexican puebla.  The subjects of the mural are smiling, dancing and eating food, which appears to be mole, hot from the grill.  This has always made me hungry for mole.  Someday I will ask, "Is that mole that they are eating?" and then regardless of the answer I will ask, "Have you guys ever thought of making a mole burrito?"

Over the years Gordos has consistently delivered perfectly prepared carnitas burritos for those who actually do work for a living.  I doubt you will see bankers, hedge fund investors and other societal bloodsuckers here. The guy who made my burrito knew what he was doing.  At first, I questioned how clean his hands were...then I noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring--which, in turn,  distracted me from thinking about cleanliness. This is a burrito for the common person made by a common person.  I watch the expert as he works building the burrito, even layers of rice, beans, guacamole and carnitas were rolled in such a way that every bite combined a little bit of each layer.  Quite a tight roll, too.  This was near burrito perfection, and the fact that at least one of the cooks has a family to help provide for makes me want to support Gordos all the more.   

On a hot night, it feels third world--in the best possible ways.  The red neon lights flicker as the ceiling fan rotates overhead.  The dusty window shades swing in the wind and strike the window sill intermittently, and the handmade chairs are a resonant decorative alternative to those Ikea inspired taco shops.  This modest haven typifies the best parts of the East Bay: unpretentious, local and original.  This is the burreatery of the common man.  It fits its location.  I think Weber would approve. 

Salsa Rating: Picante y sabroso

(Sidebar: try the quesadilla; it is fried on the flat top and rolled into semi-burrito form. Amazing.)

.

Picante, 6th St., Berkeley

Written by Casey Deeha

In the mid to late 19th century, during the general historical notion termed 'manifest destiny,' the government would often hold competitions or races that would expedite the settling of the Midwest. Crowds of would be Americans raced to place flags in the ground to mark their future territory that would come to stay within their families for generations to come - amazing how wealth can be so arbitrary, but there you go. Anyone who's seen Far and Away with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman will remember the last scene when the crazed scientologist literally punches his horse to ride like a maniac for his towering Aussie then-wife Nicole to claim his plot of land. It's a frenetic scene to say the least.

After watching this scene, you might have a decent idea of what it's like to claim a table at Picante on a Friday night. Enter the establishment and you'll be confronted with a sign instructing you to first order and then claim a table. This is all fine a dandy, although when there is a virtual sea of patrons all standing in line discussing their Mexican feast, the volume quickly rises along with the tension for there is the imminent doom of having to fight for a table.

I order, take my fancy electronic server device and I'm off. I run right, left, crisscross and all over. I look to my left and see a family of four beating an elderly couple; to my right I see an elderly couple beating a family of four; in front of me there are small children - feral - like they've been there for weeks following their burrito feast vying for survival and gnawing on the bones of their carne asada. In the back drop, there is a man with a head set shouting orders like a drill officer. In the insanity, I squint my eyes and make out a lone table out back by the fountain. I make a B-line and hope to find a white flag with my name on it.

I arrive in panic waiting for my fancy electronic server device to fulfill its purpose. The man arrives with a foil wrapped tube of pleasure. It's big and I look forward to a feast. I've ordered a rajas con papas burrito with 'slices of roasted poblano chile strips, onions and potatoes with crema'. I take my first bite and am quickly struck with a realization: burritos on the East Bay differ from burritos in 'The City'. Similar to the burrito that Sal Savirdy discusses in her review of Mi Casa in Walnut Creek, the style of this particular burrito is a such that it is a veritable meal one would find on a plate, wrapped in a tortilla. Of course, one might rebutt: 'but the nature of the burrito is derived from the fact that it was a Mexican meal wrapped in a tortilla' and this would be true. However, I would contest that the Mission style burrito, having been around since 1961, has superseded it's own derivation and become a burrito rather than a meal in a tortilla.

It is a somewhat pleasurable experience as I finish the Mexican-meal-in-a-tortilla and wash it down with a well earned Corona. I sit back and admire my plot of land knowing that I have worked hard to arrive at this position in my life, taking solace in knowing that may family is set until the next recession. The experience is difficult to express and perhaps Sal describes it best as a 'subversion of the burrito norm'.

I ponder this philosophical conundrum; it's tasty but not memorable. Saying this, I keep in mind the norms are stretched and America, while it's currency is devaluing, was built by those random peoples running like Asian Doles along the prairie hoping to take part in constructing a new paradigm. Keeping with the analogy, I for one would invest in gold taking into consideration that there would be Tom Cruises running around on a horses like dogs in heat.

(Tom searching for a table at Picante)

Salsa Rating: Frenetically Warm

Where's the Burrito Eater Gone?

 

If you are visiting the Burrito Eater website, you'll be confronted with the following: 'We've stepped away from Burritoville, USA for an extended spell, but you can look for our panel to rise from our month-long siesta by late May. In the meantime, hold the fort, carry on, etc.' Please keep a keen eye out for him and let us know if you identify his whereabouts... 

Mucho Wraps, 375 Moraga Way, Moraga.

Written ( in Haiku form) by Sal Savirdy

Chicken Burrito: 

Not strictly a Burrito,

With beef bits inside.

Salsa Rating: Mild

El Faro's Hugo Ontiveros, Superman and the 'Super Burrito'

Written by Casey Deeha

It is time that the truth is revealed. Everyday across this great area - the Bay Area - burritos are consumed in the thousands and among them: the 'super' burrito. And with the imminent release of the most recent installment into the Superman franchise, The Man of Steel , I thought to ask: is the 'super' in super burrito as poignant and descriptive as the 'super' in Superman or is it as arbitrary as caffeine? Who better to turn to for such ruminations than Hugo Ontiveros, son of Febronio Ontiveros, innovator of the Mission Style Burrito in 1961 at El Faro in the Mission. 

Let's paint the picture: we're in the Mission, it's 1961 and the cultural and social renaissance is taking place. Carlos Santana, once a resident of the Mission, has just released a live album and the 68ers have set the backdrop for the 'summer of love' to pave the way as a future lucrative marketing campaign. Political and cultural dissent is rife in the air and Carlo Santana sits down at a table at El Faro to order what will soon become known to the world as The Super Burrito.

'I remember when Carlos Santana used to come in and have a burrito,' says Hugo; 'he was like everyone in those days, he had his specific burrito.' Indeed, at El Faro, since 1961, patrons were choosing among a range of fresh Californian ingredients to create what has now become known as the 'Mission Style Burrito'. 'It was a crazy time,' says Hugo, 'everyone was coming in and out - there were a lot of people.'

Fast forward nine years and the late Christopher Reeves adorns the silver screen with a breathtaking rendition of the man of steel; I surely didn't see any wires. Of course, Christopher Reeves wasn't even a glimmer in the eyes of Hugo Ontiveros in 1969 - for Hugo, Superman was still soldered to the pages of the comic books that fulfilled long summer days. 'We were into Superman those days, of course,' says Hugo as they would constantly have to add the usual 'addendum' ingredients to their 'regular' El Faro burrito: guacamole, sour cream, and extra cheese. 'This happened all the time and my friends and I wanted to give it a name, and because we were into Superman, we called it the Super Burrito'.

Wow. Arbitrary? Maybe, but perhaps not as arbitrary as one would think. Unquestionably, one immediately associates the 'super' in Super Burrito with size and quality increase, and where this is an empirical truth, this quality of the super burrito is not its derivative. Taking 'super' as a qualitative improvement on flavor perhaps links this characteristic more closely to the original super hero status in that, the 'regular burrito,' like a Clark Kent becomes 'super' when adorning itself with these special qualities. Curious, considering that Clark Kent must disguise his 'true' nature by becoming a seemingly pedestrian earthling, then perhaps the 'regular' burrito is in a constant state of supressed superness until one releases its true super nature. However, this only holds true when the analogy turns on itself and I am left to wonder.

Arbitrariness is never as arbitrary as we would think. I'm sure Carlos and Hugo had these conundrums in mind in 1969. Until these mysteries are solved, I urge people to release the super-hero-burrito in all of us...

Superman orbits the earth while the sun sets and John Williams' Superman fanfare plays on and fades away...

HAPPY CINCO DE MAYO!

On this day, the 5th of May, let us be grateful that one Juan Mendez didn't end up eating baguetteS and brie...

Taqueria El Farolito, 24th St., Mission, San Francisco

Written By Casey Deeha

It's fitting that my venture down 24th st., passed Mission St. to El Farolito would come so soon after El Toro on Valencia... it is a paradigm shift. From independent and overly priced gift shops sprinkled with trendy hair cuts on Valencia to taquerias and lovely flowery dresses dorning the sidewalks amidst modesty. Throw in some garish colors, some newly leaved trees, the sun and an anti-rape march dancing down 24th and *poof* you have the cultural ingredients for a great Mission Style burrito experience.

It's like being a jelly bean in a jelly bean bowl (I'm actually not that fond of jelly beans, but they are a good and positive childhood metaphor everyone can relate to) - while El Farolito is one brightly colored jelly bean among many other brightly colored jelly beans in this area of the Mission, the collectivity doesn't take away from their individual contribution. In other words, putting my hand in the jelly bean bowl does mean that I'll necessarily be disappointed, but that I'll have a different jelly explosion experience to savor and remember in childhood dreams. Of course the metaphor is more apt than this - the colors - the individuality - yet the homogenous nature of each bean; I strive for this in my political aspirations, for which burritos have become representative: a working class food by nature that appeals to everyone. 

Running with my common thread and/or assertion that taquerias are the modern oasis amidst the urban-hip-desert (read my review of Zona Rosa, El Toro and El Buen Sabor), the jelly bean bowl of south east mission is a political-ideological haven of rebellion, humility and good food - and I gladly thrust my hand in hoping for a red cherry jelly bean. Walls garnered with mirrored advertisements for Corona and Budweiser juxtaposed with faded yellow with orange brick, my cultural taste was already bleeding into my mouth. I went with a chicken 'super' burrito and awaited my delight. I sat calmly taking in the sights and sounds. I waited and waited...

Sitting calmly
            calmly
              calmly

I - begain - to - drift - off - into- somewhat - of - a - trance. 

A Mexican trance that danced to the jelly bean beat of anti-rape march drums in the back drop of 24th st. I felt as if I was floating amongst the motes of sunlight piercing the window.

Smiles. Laughter. Families. 

Burrito.

Whoa... where am I? My burrito gone with only a shredded tin foil encasing on the tray in front of me. Bliss - understated and effortless. I peer down at my clenched fist, open my hand and find one red shinny jelly bean. Was this truly a dream?

Salsa Rating: red-hot-with-drug-trance-like-qualities

Cactus Taqueria, College Ave, Rockridge, Oakland.

Written by Sal Savirdy

Before entering into politics, Margaret Thatcher utilized her Oxford chemistry degree in order to help design a new form of ice cream that helped to disperse the base ingredients by adding air, therefore saving on production cost. Her first success, bizarrely, was inventing a new foodstuff. Some of my favorite anecdotes about Margaret Thatcher post-demise, contained complimentary sentiments like- ''she had the courage of her convictions; she was ruthless, methodical and dedicated'' and, my favorite- ''she wasn't afraid to be unliked.'' I suppose one might be able to say the same kinds of things about other memorable characters such as,Ted Bundy perhaps ( just a thought). For obvious reasons though and unlike Maggie the deregulator, Pinochet harborer and ice cream mutilator, he didn't end up with a British military funeral, so that kind've definitively sets them apart, I suppose. 

Maggie springs to mind whilst I am waiting one sunday morning for my huevos and chorizo burrito (a rather fancy breakfast burrito version) at Cactus Taqueira in Rockridge. Cactus is reputedly a very successful entrepreneurial venture. It perpetually has a line out the door, it's well positioned right outside the Bart station, is large, airy, well designed and has a serving method that is extremely methodical. The whole enterprise is the kind of start-up wannabe Chipotle-esque mexican food enterprise that would have made the likes of Lady Thatcher herself beam with pride at the strength of successful business venture. 

Having ordered, I take my place near the counter with my #2 order receipt squashed in sweaty- anticipatory palm, eager to receive my order of huevos and chorizo burrito. # 1 order is immediately up, and some of the anticipatory tension is dispelled as I watch the well-oiled cactus team beavering away to get my food to me. Then order, 4? and then 7? and then 3? and then 5 and so on.. until order number 12 has been served. By this time it has been about 20 minutes and the thatcherite in me is getting decidedly more cynical, and starting to feel a little marginalized. I lean over the counter to flash my order number at a member of staff- 
''Ah, oh yes,'' they smile awkwardly, and rush to begin making my food. 

Now, probably much to your surprise, I actually tend not to be an asshole about this kind of thing ( bar my decision to mention it, I concede) because there is truly nothing I like more, or find more amusing, than human error. Take me to see a Jaques Tati movie, and I'm yours, or if you're really cheap, I even enjoy pretty basic out-take and candid camera shows too.They are a platform to showcase the true generosity and also the lack there of, of fellow human beings. Mostly though, I just like that people look funny when they say the wrong thing or fall over and run into things. So, anyway, in the long run and quite ironically, their fuck up could have earned them bonus points, and it definitely didn't negatively influence the experience too much.

When it arrived, the burrito itself was large, hot, the tortilla a little bit cling-to-the-front-of-my-teeth, but not bad; the chorizo and egg, nice. The green onions were a good addition, but in all, the combination was a little to rich for the large scale of the burrito and by the end (I know I didn't have to finish it), I felt reasonably nauseous. I'd go there again on a really starved morning if I happened to be in the area, but I can't say it holds a candle to my El Faro breakfasting experience.  The salsas on the other hand, are very good, particularly the salsa de pina, which has a distinctive pineapple flavor.

If my breakdast burrito was not the best tasted, but Cactus is clearly one of the most popular taquerias in the area, what then, makes a food business successful? I don't necessarily believe any more that it can be enough just to have the best tasting product and maybe that's not entirely a bad thing. It seems that ever-increasingly (especially with regards to Chipotle and Cactus Taqueria), the public are deliberately opting for a clean, accessible and well-positioned taqueria, and naturally sourced ingredients, over anything that prioritizes the culinarily traditional. Does this mean the end for the old names in Mexican food? I hope not.

Maggie, I reckon, would be right there with the public's desire for cleanliness and convenience; along with her own, invaluable, convenient and pioneering contribution to the modern food chain: air pumped whip ice cream. 

Thank goodness for Maggie, now the world surely is a better place; what a woman.

Salsa Rating : Medium/ medium hot

Baja Taqueria, Piedmont Avenue, Oakland.

Written by Sal Savirdy

(Can I just say, for the record, I don't really give a shit about the Nordstrom shoes, and in any case, they didn't fit him). 

Two years or so ago, I may or may not have re-located myself a stone's throw from the indomitable Oakland shopping district, Piedmont Avenue. At that time, I also may or may not have accepted employment at a bookstore. And may I say that this was (maybe) one of the more colorful times of my life, and that this color, mexican-like in vibrancy, has forever cemented itself in my very, otherwise unremarkable collection of memories. Regardless, the experience happened to have brought me to Baja Taqueria, a safe haven amongst emotionally challenged book shop owners and book dealers. A fortress where I might cunningly, but also only momentarily, bypass such emails ( that I may, or may not have received) from my then- boss as, 

''Sal, I may not wake up in time to come into the shop tomorrow because my soul is still chafed from my rejection by the barmaid at Bar Cesar, can you call me at 10am in case I forget to get up and feed the dog? and, …. oh, if a guy comes in with my medicinal marijuana, just put it in the bottom drawer of the desk and take a quarter for yourself if you like'  

Baja Taqueria became an escape from such dynamic responsibilities as responding to an email like this, and ( disputably) peeling my boss off the sales counter at opening one morning, naked, and chewing his bottom lip, whilst expressing his undying gratitude:  ''I don't think I ever really liked women, It's rooted in my childhood and I know now that's why I just can't seem to sustain a relationship with them, but I have this rampant and excessive testosterone and.... *pause* .....I've had some remarkable encounters in my time I can tell you... I don't know,  I often wonder, why does the female form have such a GRIP on me Sal? ... did I ever talk to you about the 'Goddess?' *pause* ... Good god, my HEAD, would you fucking get yourself to Cafe Trieste and order me a coffee already, what do I pay you for?! where's my lighter?!''

Because I had such a friendly relationship with my boss, I often found myself lingering at Baja during my lunch time, eager to 'try new things' in my break, Perhaps this was an effort to impress him with my knowledge of local eateries? I don't know, something persuades me otherwise.

Given the context, I suppose I should get down to business:

Because I'm limited to the burrito, I have to go in that direction, but before I do so, can I just say that the fish tacos are pretty great, really good- and if you go there, have them. The burrito, however, is kind've an appropriate analogy for its role in my experience at the bookshop; it was, safe. A, safe haven. It tasted OK, it was rolled OK, the salsa counter is OK, the tortilla is, OK and the decor is, nice, safe, OK. The staff are OK, the service is OK you'll be OK if you go there for a burrito (the cheese is quite raw though admittedly, if it's a deal-breaker). 

But for goodness sake, don't go to the wrong one of the five bookshops afterwards, as you may find yourself uncharacteristically overstimulated or otherwise challenged. Unless you like that kind of thing, I guess. 

Salsa Rating: Medium.

la Salsa Fresh Mexican Grll, Marina Blvd., San Leandro

Written by Casey Deeha

Along with Chipotle and Baja Fresh, La Salsa Fresh is the third national mexican taqueria chain that I have looked at - a battle of the chains thus far within BARB (Bay Area Review of Burritos). The analogy for this battle is simple given that The Nordstrom Rack lies next door within the same strip mall in San Leandro for which I choose to lay my La Salsa Fresh scene:

Two burrito reviewers, both alike in fashion taste

In Fair San Leandro where we lay our battle

From modern grudge break a new dispute

Where discounted shoes make civil minds uncivil

For under dispute, between Sal Savirdy and I, were one pair of Jack Purcell Converses - brown - they were earthy and we considered ourselves to be earthy but urban - an oxymoron I know - but it encapsulates the human condition. The dispute, obviously, was that there were one pair. We laughed, we cried, we fought, we fell in love all over again. And how does this relate to burritos and the taqueria chain battle? Well - there's only one burrito - the concept of the burrito. And for any institution to attempt to lay claim to this concept is inherently contradicting itself - in much the same way that Sal and I fight over a pair of shoes that (we feel) convey our earthy urbaness. I harbor this sentiment upon entering any Taqueria chain - yes, I know that I am biased, but I am human and to say that you are not biased in all areas of life is to simply express what you are - a contradiction.

With this in mind, I entered La Salsa Fresh with as much skepticism as going into a battle with Sal over a pair of shoes at the Nordstrom Rack. Of course, no room for choice - a set menu with a set understanding of what they conceive as the ultimate burrito to package and sell to the masses. I keep in mind that La Salsa Fresh is a smaller beast to Chipotlesauras and Baja Freshidactyl, and has their humble origins in LA, very unlike the pseudo-humble origins of Chipotle in Colorado (read my exclusive interview with Hugo Ontiveros on the origins of Steve Ells). While LA's version of the burrito is much different than the Bay Area's, I still give credence where credence is due; I've eaten some good LA burritos. I went with the veggie with black beans and 'huffed' when I was called to retrieve my burrito for I was cynical. In the same vein, I saw Sal lurking on the other end of the isles searching for Mr. Jack Purcell. I sat, garnished my first bite with their salsa and was... pleasantly surprised. All in all, not a bad burrito for a chain. Yes, it certainly leaned on the lean side of the burrito world in that, like the other chains, they were attempting to create a healthy alternative to the Big Mac - although they were able to retain some roots in good SoCal burritos. 

In the end, Sal won the shoes. But... I walked away thinking that the concept of the perfect shoes is one that is forever amalgamating into nothingness, and with this thought, I pondered whether Sal actually ever really won those shoes.

Go hence and have talk of these ponderous things

Some shall be pardoned and some punished

For never was there a story of such idea

Than this of Sal and her Casey Deeha

Salsa Rating: Surprisingly Warm - (but still skeptical)

 

El Toro, Mission, San Francisco

Written by Casey Deeha

Perhaps a natural evolution of the 'Mission Style' burrito with regard to method is a somewhat militaristic drill, where various peoples behind a counter littered with choices are shouting at you. I'm not so sure that El Faro's Febronio Ontiveros had this in mind when he decided to do away with menus in a traditional sense to allow the customer to choose amongst fresh ingredients. Nevertheless, walk into any Chipotle on a busy day and this is the experience that you may very well have - a range of worker drones shouting at you to choose your al dente rice, or over cooked black beans in such a way that I feel like going Gomer Pile on them. And where El Toro Taqueria is certainly no Full Metal Jacket, there is an element of the military buried beneath the remodeled space.

Let's be clear and let's go ahead and lay everything on the table: the Mission is changing, has changed and is changing. There are more independent shops which have brought in a new generation of Mission locals over the past decade, all with a little bit more money than the last, all driving up prices - thus making trend an ever greater commodity. One only has to slowly meander down Valencia on a Saturday afternoon to see how many new eateries have opted to license themselves in order to pour tables out on to the sidewalk for the trendy do-das walking by can admire the trendier do-da patrons at the swish SF eatery as if they were walking down Sunset in Hollywood catching a glimpse of A-list royalty.

The Mission taquerias, in this regard, are the oasis amongst this money-trend desert. And El Toro certainly seemed no different than the others, upon an external glance. Walking in however, I was overwhelmed by a cafeteria like feel - and given El Toro's remodeling efforts, I would say they were intentionally going for something specific, something clean and perhaps more modern, something perhaps like Papalote on 16th but far from it; it felt something like a school canteen and I'm afraid the service wasn't too far from the militaristic penache of a Chipotle. I ordered a salmon burrito and felt that I was being punished for it - there were questions being shouted at me like bullets whizzing by my ear and the quality of the burrito didn't necessarily make up for it like at Los Cantaros in Emeryville. A decent burrito - yes, but worthy of being among taqueria legends in the Mission? No.

If one had the choice to avoid the trend river of Valencia, to remember authenticity on some cultural level, then opt perhaps for Taqueria Cancun or El Faro.

Salsa Rating: Mild Sir!