Heaven hath no treasure like the Potrillos Burrito, from Los Potrillos in Camas, WA.*
There it is. Go ahead, take a moment. Bask in its deliciousness.
See that, drizzled all over it? They call this red concoction “our special burrito sauce,” which is latin for crack cocaine. This is not enchilada sauce, or salsa, or whatever else you’re nodding your head at right now. Don’t act like you know, because you don’t. This sauce is the nectar of the gods, bestowed upon humanity with the tender delicacy of a lover’s caress. It smothers the burrito in a cascade of tangy goodness, filling every discrete crevice and leaving no ingredient untouched.
The tortilla hugs the burrito protectively, reluctant to release the bounty within. One touch of your fork brings an avalanche of tumbling flavors – sauteed vegetables, rice, beans, and seasonings that flood your mouth with saliva.
The pork is so magnificently stringy and moist that I imagine the pig lathered himself up and leaped voluntarily into the fire. The salty, buttery chunks of meat are slow-cooked to mouthwatering perfection.
And oh god… the guacamole.
Every inch of this burrito is dense with absolute, incomprehensible deliciousness. I actually have to take a moment before each bite, to strategize my next approach for maximum tastiness potential.
Meanwhile, each time the culinary masterpiece reaches my tongue, I am elevated to new levels of consciousness. I am in complete delirium over each mouthful.
I become so disoriented that my relationship with this burrito begins to feel like a love affair. What we have is special, sacred. Nobody else eating this burrito has what we have. No one else could possibly understand. I continue stuffing my face, savoring each bite as if it causes me physical pain to swallow.
…Oh wait, it is causing me physical pain to swallow. My stomach has begun to protest. “No more!” it begs me. The burrito is likely at least four portion sizes, and my tummy is ill equipped to accommodate this mountain of food.
The request falls on the deaf ears of my taste buds, who are lost in blissful ecstasy. I carry on, each bite pushing on my waistline like a stretching rubber band.
The walls of my stomach are about at their breaking point when I concede with a sigh. Yes, Mr. Server, I will take a box.
The next day, the leftovers fill my car with an aroma so tantalizing, I’m tempted to pull over and devour the thing cold. When I arrive at work, I stealthily hide the styrofoam container in the very back of the office fridge, lest any nosy onlookers get any funny ideas. I give it one last look before closing the fridge door, like a mother sending her child off to kindergarten for the first time. I make sure it looks comfortable and safe, and walk slowly back to my desk.
All day, my eyes flutter toward the clock. Is 10am too early to eat lunch? Probably.
In between projects, my mind wanders to the one-half Potrillos Burrito awaiting me just yards away. I sneak off to get some water from the kitchen, and find myself checking on it. It’s still there. Still calling to me.
Mercifully, lunchtime arrives. I put the cool delicacy into the microwave, unprepared for another two minutes of waiting. I tap my toes, crack my knuckles, and pace around the table in anticipation.
Finally, finally, it’s time. I pull the steaming dish out, its aromas curling into every corner of the office kitchen. I walk tentatively back to my desk, cradling it with two hands.
As I sit down, I become instantly aware of the people around me, and immediately wish I could enjoy this experience in privacy. I feel socially obligated to stifle my immense pleasure with each chew. Can it be, that this microwaved-leftovers version actually tastes better than the original? Impossible.
As I scoop the last forkfull of tortilla, vegetables, and guacamole into my mouth – I let out a muffled sigh and lean back into my chair.
Until next time, Los Potrillos Burrito.
*I do not receive any compensation or incentive for endorsing anything on my blog. That said, Los Potrillos, please feel free to START compensating me if you want to. You can pay me in burritos.