Mission Burrito

When the Ewing and I first started dating, many aeons ago, both London and myself were just succumbing to our first wave of burrito love. It was before I was regularly blogging, and I decided that sampling and then writing about all the burritos I could lay my hands on would make a great new project.

Being in the first flush of love, I was somewhat oblivious to the Ewing's luke warm enthusiasm to endless helpings of sludgy beans and stringy chicken (I blame all the Margarita's we were helping the food down with) until, one fateful, hot afternoon in Islington, after becoming hopelessly lost, she finally put her foot down and would only eat a plain avocado and drink an agua fresca. The dream was over.

Fast forward to now, and although her interest is still somewhat limited, we have reached a happy compromise of burritos in moderation. A good job for me as I know our America trip would take us to San Francisco, home of the fabled San Francisco Mission Burrito.

First stop was La Taqueria, rated in both the guide books and on the web at sites such as Burritoeater as a decent shout for lunch. The large neon signs on the walls inside inside goe one step further, proclaiming that these are 'the best tacos and burriotos in the whole world'. A bold claim, and not one for a Mission Virgin like me to decide, but I was impresssed with the clean, bright interior as we arrived to the cool calm of the post-lunchtime rush; the glorious smell of grilled meat thick in the air.

After choosing our food, and ordering at the counter, we found a side table to sit down and enjoy our pineapple agua frescas while waiting for our ticket to be called.

I found this a little sweet for my tastes, but the Ewing was a big fan, helping herself to mine after she had finished draining hers in super quick time. If sweet, cold fruit drinks are your thing then the strawberry flavour are suposed to be very good, too.

The carne asada burrito with avocado. I hadn't realised when ordering, but La Taqueria are, controversially, one of the very few proponents of the Mission Style burrito who don't include rice (really making this more of a San Diego style wrap). I had mixed feelings about this, pleased that the filling was overwhelmed by extra carbs, but disappointment that the 'local' burrito I had been looking forward to was missing one critical ingredient.

In the end the absence of rice mattered very little; the burrito was a perfect mix of smoky, creamy and beany. Normally I would choose pork over beef, but here the grilled meat was gloriously charred, yet still tender. Its reasonably slender size (it's still pretty massive) and lack of rice also meant I could eat it without immediately slumping into a Cal -Mex coma, important when there are other things eager to be sampled.

The carnitas taco. I let the Ewing have a free reign with this one to start with, reasoning that the more modest bread 'wrapping' would appeal to her dislike of 'stodge'. My logic was right, and I had to quickly swipe the last few bites from her clutches so I could sample it for myself. I enjoyed this, the fatty, crispy shreds of pork topped with a fresh onion and tomato salsa, but found it a little uninspired compared to the majesty of the burrito.

By this point we were both pretty sated; an unholy mixture of iced coffees, bacon donuts, bourbon cornflake ice cream, Mexican Coke, tacos and tortillas left us struggling to conemplate yet another feed. Walking back to the BART station we saw this on the corner, a tip in my burrito research and too tempting to pass by. A quick lap of Mission Street fortified us just enough for round two of our late Mexican lunch.

The interior here was darker and more austere. Despite the gloomy surroundings the place was pretty packed; every table taken by groups of friends, families, students and workmen, who were supposed to be concreting the pavement outside but obviously found the lure of meat and beans too hard to resist.(we had to be helped over wooden planks to get in the door).

Initally I may have been slightly dubious, but I really, really liked this place. The guy serving behind the counter was very helpful, patiently listening to our butchering of his mother tounge and explaining the menu permutations to us. The atmosphere was also lively and friendly, feeling at times more like a social club than a restaurant.

The totopos, gratis with every order. I quickly got stuck in, the crispy chips ably accompanied by pots of red and green salsa and  pico de gallo from the help yourself condiment bar. As ever the Ewing maintained a slight aloofness, until finally she relented and ate one. They didn't last for much longer after that.

Lengua Taco with beef tongue. Deciding that I wasn't quite ready for the sesos (brains) taco, I went for the tongue version instead. The meat was melty and soft, and pulled apart in strands as you ate it; the flavour was a little gamey, without being overpowering. The real problem was the whitish-grey, tastebuds still on the meat, that were rather reminiscent of the top of a piece of lego and gave the curious sensation of feeling like you were touching the top of your own tongue. The salsa seemed a bit gloopier than La Taqueria, and made the taco rather soggy, but the slices of lime on the side added a nice zing.

Weighing in at nearly two pounds this whopper was too much to manage after all our other Mission delights. Luckily it had been as carefully and neatly swaddled as a new born baby, meaning we could safely transport it back to our hotel, the silver foil helping to insulate it for a good few hours until we felt strong enough to brave it.

Luckily I still had room for beer, in this case a dark, slightly sweet Negra Modela; perfect with all the smoke and spice. The Ewing was particularly thankful for hers, after I assured her the pico de gallo wasn't that spicy (turns out that it was).

This is the real deal, rice'n'all, super burrito mission style. Tempted as I was to go for the carne asada this time I chose the al pastor; marinaded pork cooked on a spit with onions and pineapple. Despite my Mexican overload that afternoon, the glorious smell coming from my bag meant I couldn't resist unpeeling it from its silver wrapper as soon as I got home. Within minutes it had been devoured, leaving a trail of fallen rice and salsa drips in its wake.

Although I actually didn't miss the rice in La Taqueria's version, the extra carbs in this were spot on. The rice had been cooked with herbs and tomato, and was well seasoned, combining perfectly with the mealy, sweet pinto beans. The middle featured a cooling seam of avocado and sour cream resting on the spicy, smoky shreds of pork, and the pineapple and onion lending a slight sweetness to cut through the slightly fatty, crispy meat. This was a supreme burrito; despite any reservations about the rice the Ewing wolfed her half down without complaint, too.

While it might not always be pretty or chic, both our stops featured big, honest, good value food that doesn't taste cheap, or stodgy, or bland. The subtle spicing on the meats, as well as the different marinades and cooking methods mean the flavours remain distinguished, and the array of salsa, beans and toppings mean that there are endless permutations of the simple burrito and taco to be enjoyed.

It would be impossible to talk about the Mission Burrito without saying a little something about the area that begat such a wonderful thing. Taking the BART to Mission and 24th Street we were immediately hit with a wave of heat and colour; wall murals and painted houses and shops brightening every corner. As well as our Burrito fix we also made room for donuts and ice cream (at Humprey Slocombe and Dynamo Donuts, whose magnificence are to be saved for a later post) and a visit to Casa Lucas, the popular Mexican supermarket on 24th Street.

The Ewing, proudly clutching the aloe vera leaf purchased as a DIY aftersun substitute (a menace that lurked by the bathroom sink back at the hotel, ready to attack me every time I turned the tap on).

They certainly like their beans. Also note the sacks of maize flour and hominy used for tortillas, pupusas, and tamales on the bottom shelf, and the Rice-a-Roni on the second shelf down. This popular boxed convenience food bears features a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge and the tag line 'The San Francisco Treat!', as it originated in the Mission District.

Now, in me, Homer Simpson has a rival for the biggest pork rind lover in the West, but even I wasn't too convinced by these pickled specimens in bobbing menacingly in their glass jars. Curious as I was, these stayed on the shelf for another time.

Now, that's is more like it, shelves and shelves of hot sauces and canned chillies. I couldn't go home without grabbing some chipotles en adobo and some Tapatio sauce weighing down my suitcase.

Goat's milk caramel lollies. Although I didn't try one of these, I did buy some cajeta, after our delicious experience at Chicago's Girl and the Goat earlier on our trip. It currently sits in the cupboard, awaiting some culinary inspiration (or the point where a sugar crash and lack of options forces me to drink it straight from the bottle).

Sadly we only had time for one lap to experience the Mission's Mexican fare, meaning we missed out on such delights as birria (goat), chile rellenos, or the Californian tofu taco (maybe a good thing).

But how ever long you have to spend, this is a wonderful, colourful, vibrant corner of San Francisco, and an essential stop for anyone looking for some fabulous food and Cal-Mex culture.

Lets taco 'bout last night

So, against all odds, I made it to the end of the holiday and now I'm finally at the end of my American blog posts. Sure there was the afternoon where we went to Venice Beach and I made the Ewing eat poke with avocado (kinda normal), pizza with avocado (kinda weird) and ice cream with avocado (very weird). And then there was the time we went to the Wynn buffet and ate prime rib and beef ribs and mac and cheese (despite my carb ban, so I could fit in even more food), before the Ewing went wild on the wheel of gelato (7 desserts...I ATE 7 DESSERTS - TE). But you're just going to have to imagine all that.

And yes, in case you're wondering, that is my ankle. Have you really been to Vegas without getting a tattoo at two in the morning after watching two of your good friends getting married in the Neon Boneyard followed by dinner and dancing, complete with a surprise visit from Tina Turner herself, at the top of the Stratosphere.

The real purpose of this final blog, however, is not my poor life choices, but instead to chronicle a whistle-stop tour of Mexican food in Southern California/Arizona. As we've pretty much had a moratorium on Mexican food in this household, after my ill-fated attempt to eat all the burritos in London, I was pretty excited to start with a sunny Sunday evening visit to the Best Fish Taco in Ensenada, in Los Feliz.

It's a bold claim (and I'm not sure I've actually eaten one like this, to compare it to), but the eponymous fish taco was pretty good. So were the shrimp tacos, both lightly battered and freshly fried to order before being topped with a mix of shredded white cabbage, red radish, pineapple relish and 'la crema magica' from the DIY condiment station.

Even better were the veggie options (no, really), in the shape of the green papa taco - filled with a kind of spiced mashed potato - and the elote, a corn cob drenched in crumbled Mexican cheese, chilli and more crema. A shout out, too, for the two lovely guys working there. Admirably calm in the face of a constant queue while patiently deciphering our mangled pronunciation.

The sprawling metropolis we now know as La La Land started life on a much smaller scale when eleven families of pobladores - the original settlers - arrived from the Gulf of California to establish a pueblo that become the City of Los Angeles. You can still visit the Los Angeles Plaza Historic District, including the famed Olvera Street, to see where the story all began.

Originally known as Wine Street, but later renamed for a renowned local judge, Olvera Street is a pretty place to take a wander. Particularly in late spring, before the temperatures soar and with the blossom on the trees against the bright blue Californian skies.

While the painted stalls may all be hawking generic ponchos, piñatas and pottery, making it down to the end brings the reward of Cielito Lindo, a small stall on the corner that is also known as the home of the taquito - a corn tortilla, stuffed and rolled and then deep fried until crisp - in the US.

The Ewing and I both went with the two taquito one tamale option, served with beans and cheese and their famous avocado sauce. While I feared  a plate of greasy stodge -more suited to soaking up several bottles of Sol than a light lunch – it was all excellent. 

Nothing fancy but just good, freshly cooked food that is clearly still just as popular with the Angelinos than tourists. A fact borne out by the fact we spent our visit surrounded by local ladies on their lunch break, picking up their taquitos with their perfectly manicured nails while putting the world to rights.

Our last brekkie in LA was at Texan transplant, Home State, home of the breakfast taco, but this is not bastardised Tex-mex food as we know it. Instead it features a range of rolled tacos, stuffed with a range of breakfast items such as eggs, beans and bacon and eaten in the morning, as well as migas - Mexican scrambled eggs with crispy corn strips - and homemade guacamole, queso and salsa to go with their homemade fried flour tortillas chips.

We both chose a brace of breakfast tacos, on Homestate flour tortillas, and continuing my love affair with egg, I chose the Trinity; organic eggs, bacon, potato, cheddar; and the Frio, with refried charro beans, bacon and monterey jack.  Both were good  but - annoyingly, as it so seldomly ever happens - the Ewing chose even better with the Pecos - organic eggs and shredded brisket.

We also had a Frito Pie, which for the uninitiated is a bag of Fritos (twisty strips of crunchy tortilla) split open and topped with chili con carne, cheddar, lettuce, sour cream, tomato, pickled jalapeño and pickled red onion. Basically nachos in a bag, and as good as it sounds. To drink was Topo Chico, a cult favourite sparkling water, bottled in Monterrey, Mexico. The Ewing thought it tasted like all fizzy water, but I bought the hype. Damn, this stuff was refreshing. 

Most people head to Sedona to hike around the stunning red rock formations, indulge their spiritual side with visits to the famous ‘energy vortexes’ or visit the art galleries and craft shops. While we made it to Cathedral in the Rocks (half an hour after it closed), my highlight was visiting the only McDonalds in the entire world that doesn’t have a yellow arch. Which is just as unique as other local landmarks such as Snoopy Rock, a formation that is supposed to resemble the beagle.

Of course I didn’t eat at Micky D’s (I probably would have had one of their sausage McGriddles, but it was past breakfast time…), but we did enjoy dinner at Torta de Fuego, a very decent Mexican restaurant, just down the road from our motel.

A torta is a kind of Mexican sandwich, and we know how I feel about sandwiches. Despite my passion, I forwent a sarnie on our visit, although I did end up having a burrito; which is essentially a wrap, which is essentially a sandwich anyway....

Full points for the condiment bar, full of salsas and sauces and chunks of limes and pickles radishes, but I’m taking away half a point away for putting it right by the door and half a point away for not giving us gratis tortilla chips (or asking if we wanted to order any), something I only noticed when I had picked up a rainbow array of sauces and had nothing to dunk into them. 

I was also quite amused by the customer who picked the only obviously English girl (obviously me) at the condiment bar, before launching into a monologue questioning what everything was, and then getting offended when I clearly had no idea. In case you were wondering I just pointed at what I hoped the most incendiary one was, and crossed my fingers it would burn. 

As for our food, the Ewing's camarones el diabalo really did burn. A great pile of giant shrimp in a deep crimson sauce, rich with smoky chillies, with a scorpion-like sting in the tail. An accompanying pile of refried beans, rice, salad and foil wrapped tortillas quenched the fire; slightly. As did the comically oversized sup of horchata, the sweet rice-based drink flavoured with cinnamon. There may have been tears, although they were (mostly) from happiness.

I had the Fuego burrito mojado, a burrito stuffed with carnitas with rice, beans, guacamole and pico de gallo, and topped with soured cream, mexican cheese and cilantro. No, I haven't turned American, but coriander isn't going to cut it in this situation. I ordered it off menu 'Christmas style' - topped with both green and red salsa - to make it look like I knew what I was talking about after the salsa bar debacle. I still didn't really know, but I knew I liked it.

While the Vegas food scene seems to centre around celebrity chefs and fancy high end dining and the obligatory all you can eat buffets, there are also a few lower-end gems that are worth looking out for. One of these is the lauded Tacos el Gordo, a small chain of taco stands that started in San Diego, and have recently successfully transplanted to The Strip.

While you can expect an endless queue for ballast at four in the morning, the fact we walked past it every day while heading up the strip meant we stopped in for a more civilised lunch. Made even more sophisticated by the fact we had met up with the magical Stealth, who was the only person in Nevada in May who was wearing tweed.

There are three queues when you get inside; one for the adobada - a huge rotating spit of pork marinated in brick red chilli - one for chorizo and carne asada. and one for all the organ meats, with bubbling cauldrons of beef breast and pig guts.

As well as the familiar tacos you can also order mules, which are a a thick tortilla 'sandwich' filled with meat, griddled cheese, guacamole, salsa, onions and cilantro - a vampiro is the same, but with extra crispy tacos. There are also sopes, corn cakes topped with the meat of your choice, and cheese smothered quesedillas.

We shared a box of their famed loaded fries piled with carne asada, soured cream and guacamole, as well as a slice of wobbly sweet flan, in a puddle of bitter caramel sauce. Of course we also had tacos; with tripe - surprisingly great, served as crispy strips, a little like calamari. We also had lengua, slices of soft tongue similar to corned beef (why is it that offal is always likened to something less 'awful'), that became the the Ewing's favourite after our honeymoon adventures in San Francisco.

As well as tongue, they also serve tacos topped with cheek and brain. So use your head and come here for the food but you may want to skip the woven woollen wear.