Burrito #1

A Chipotle in Europe is every burrito-loving American’s dream. Back in 2009, I would have killed or, worse yet, maybe even have gone down on a dude if I could get a Chipotle burrito somewhere in London. One night during my studies, two other Chipotle lovers and I counted down our top five all-time favforite burritos. It was during my last week of studies that I stumbled upon the promised land: the construction site for Europe’s first Chipotle, right in between Leicester Square and Tottenham Court. But as cruel fate would have it, the restaurant would not open until April 2010- four months after my departure.

Well, I’m back and now it’s open. As my first order of business, I made it a goal to visit this long sought-after pleasure. When I strolled down Tottenham Court road, a familiar image shined brighter than the greatest of stars:

It was all so familiar: the stools, the silver tables, the music, the lines stretching from the counter to the sidewalk. This was it.

All they did was switch $ to £.

The anticipation was growing. After I paid for my food, I sat down and at long last took my first bite of the mighty foil-wrapped goodness in front of me.

I’m sad to report back that this crown jewel of gourmet fast food failed to deliver. To put it simply- it sucked. The burrito was lackluster, tasting like only half of what it could have been.

What a twist of fate! How could this be? How could Chipotle, of all American businesses, fall so short on its own expected standards?

The reason to me was clear: they substituted Mexican cooks and servers for those of the Indian variety (dot, not feather).

Damn you, Chipotle! A Mexican is the very heart and soul of a burrito. You forget your heritage too easily. Are you merely employing local citizens with jobs in a down economy? Are there just not that many Mexicans in London? Are you cutting costs because Indians are willing to work for lower wages? WHY DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!

At least they had Tabasco. That helped a little.

To be fair, I didn’t go with my regular burrito ingredients; they presented me with the option of brown rice, and I chose that instead of the lime and cilantro covered white rice. They also served white corn instead of yellow, which was a small and unopposed change. However, the portions were way smaller, and was noticeably prepared without any love.

I was definitely distraught, and unsure if I would ever return.

Burrito #2

While taking a lunchtime stroll on a chilly afternoon at work (actually, they’ve all been pretty chilly), I was looking for a good place for a good meal. I walked past a place called EAT, which are shitty and all over the city. I’m glad that I passed up that crap, because right around the corner was a huge line full of suits from a tiny little store named Poncho 8. Curious, I walked over to see what all the commotion was for. I made may way through the bodies and stole a glance through the window, and lo and behold: they were serving gourmet burritos. I hadn’t the time that day to wait in line, but I made a return trip one of the week’s goals.

I fucked up in not getting there that week, but I went there first thing the next Monday. With eloquent timing, I made it in just before the lunch rush.

First things first: no Mexicans. Not even a single Mexican’t. It’s probably the only time I’ve ever been disappointed to see a row of good-looking European girls behind a counter, ready to serve any and all of my burrito desires.

Despite having failed that requirement, I still had to give Poncho 8 a shot. The ingredients were identical to those of Chipotle, as were the prices. And if the line out the door was any indication, this food was the shit. So, I went with a beef fajita burrito with sour cream, cheese, hot salsa, and lettuce. I don’t recall them having corn, but whatevs. I wasn’t expecting a whole lot, anyway.

I paid for my burrito and sped back to the office, hoping that it would make the hike back and still be warm. I did not want to be the new guy who burnt down the breakroom by microwaving his foil-wrapped burrito. And how could I possibly defend the absolute necessity of the foil surrounding a burrito after something like that? I’d have to give it at least two more weeks, minimum, before I accidentally set the office up in flames.

The burrito was exceptional. The only bad thing was the lack of corn and the quality of the rice. But other than that, it’s the closest thing to real Chipotle that I’ve experienced so far, even if it was made by European girls. Poncho 8, you were good.

Burrito #3

Four days later, I returned to Poncho 8. It was amazing. No regrets.

Burrito #4– Redemption

Yesterday, I decided to give Chipotle another chance. They’d been so good to me in the past, I couldn’t just write them off. I went in, hoping that I would somehow be able to taste the golden splendor of the Chipotle I know and love.

I went into the line and heard a familiar sound- a loud, American accent passionately touting the prowess of a Chipotle burrito. The voice came from the tall white man behind the counter, who was initiating the pressing of the tortilla and initial ingredients of the burrito. Turns out, he’s the manager. And he’s Canadian- Chipotle brought him over from Toronto to open this store. I let him know about my burrito tribulations over the past week, and he told me that he wouldn’t let me down.

I kept everything like I normally would- white rice, more white rice, steak, hot salsa, corn, sour cream, cheese, and lettuce.

Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know how he did it, but that was one of the best Chipotle burritos I have ever had. Maybe even “top five” worthy. I spared no time eating it- not even time to savor it. I was all-in, and it was very good to me.

Conclusion

At this juncture, I think it’s safe to say that I’ll be returning to Chipotle. But not for a little while- I ate too many burritos this past week. Once I stop shitting bricks, I’ll be good to go. Can anyone send me some ChipotlAway? I think I’m going to need it.