Those of you who know me know of my deep-rooted, near daily obsession with burritos – specifically, Moe’s Southwest Grill. At least twice a week since a franchise opened near my work I’ve been hitting the flour-shelled salsa/bean/guacamole trinity of the food of the East Coast non-Mexican gods.
They know my name.
They know my burrito (tofu, black beans, no sour cream, fresh cilantro and chopped jalapenos).
And yes, I’d recently boycotted them for what seemed like an eternity after some numbskull left me standing there, burrito growing cold, while he failed to grasp the concept of how to multi-task through cheese and lettuce.
I swear I had nothing to do with it, but he got fired, and I’d recently returned to my Mexic-ish obsession.
Venturing out at noon in nearly religious preparation for an evening of wiping the rink floor with my limbs, I made my way to … what was once … Moe’s.
“Nooooooooo!!!!!!!!” I wailed, throwing myself upon the locked doors.
No explanation was given for the sudden departure of my best fast food friend. It wasn’t lack of business – there was always a line. And I personally kept them in tortilla chips, I’ll bet.
Was it something worse? Something, dare I say, illegal? Illicit? Downright gross?!!?
Whatever the cause, this is a tragedy, people, a tragedy!
What do I do now? Do I stock my pantry with food and, shudder to think, cook? Do I overextend my already paltry budget and buy food out? And if I did, what could possibly compare?
But then, maybe it’s time that something gives.
Much as I love the stuff the fact of the matter is it’s bastardized East Coast faux fast food. And while the original, and best, burrito love of my life lives in the City by the Bay, I can’t help but find myself thinking that, even if the original, authentic article were offered to me it might be time for this old girl to take a chance on something entirely new.
I just have to hope I can somehow incorporate guacamole!