Lolita’s is the one taco shop I hear about most in my adventures. The comments vary from exhortations (“you should try it out”) to incitements (“you’re an idiot fraud for not saying this is the best taco shop in San Diego!”). These comments come mostly from my brethren in the cities south of San Diego, who tend to know a thing or two about burritos.  

Let me say this first: I’ve been to the Lolita’s in Bonita, and it was really good, but I wasn’t paying enough attention to justify a review without returning. And since Bonita and Chula Vista stray from my beaten path, I just haven’t had a chance. I want to go back, but I haven’t yet.

So I was very happy when my good friend Arfie Kareem called to say he was visiting San Diego for the weekend and, a good native, seeking his fill of burritos. I got to tag along to the taqueria of his choosing—Lolita’s, at their new location in Kearney Mesa.

Let me back up a bit. I grew up with the Kareems and was thus afforded a taste early on of Pakistani food, never as often as I’d like. I credit Salman Kareem, Arfie’s mother, for my dogged affinity for lamb and spice. Recently retired, she should open up a restaurant, I told her. She scoffed. “I don’t know what it is, Crawford,” she said. “Whether we get busier as we get older, or just lazier. I don’t know. My goal these days is to watch Oprah and Jerry Springer, which I haven’t yet been able to do.”

I was able to visit with the Kareem family for about an hour or so before we left for lunch and it reminded me of how deeply burritos and Mexican-American food saturate our lives here. On the sunny back patio of the Kareem house as we chatted, Salman mentioned that she likes Cotixa’s food but prefers the hot sauce at Roberto’s, especially the green, which you must request. Arfie’s father sagely demurred, but the point is this: We all have opinions about the things we love, and just about every San Diegan loves their taqueria like a second kitchen, one in which we don’t have to do the dishes.

So on to Lolita’s on Clairemont Mesa Blvd.

This place is in a strip mall like everything on Clairemont Mesa Blvd. It’s new and clean, practically gleaming, and big. Most of the clientele were high school-age and the place was packed.

Arfie ordered the carne asada. As he pulled the bills from his pockets to pay, I was proud to see that with them came a bulk of receipts from other burrito orders of the weekend. Arfie eats as much Mexican food as he can when he visits home, and mostly burritos. Good man!

I had the pollo asado burrito and the veggie burrito.

The burritos are good, really good and I ate both. The tortillas were well toasted. The portions were fair. And there were some nice flares in the presentation as well, which, as I’ve said before, are what make a good place great. The cooks are obvious fans of black pepper. The flavor really permeated the meats. The pollo had been brined or something and was really plump and tender. Good guacamole from fresh avocados. A solid effort for sure, but looking at Arfie’s order, I think carne asada is their strong suit. It just looked really good—a layer of browned meat, a strip of green guacamole, and it all packed tightly together—and moreover my man was happy. I could see that.

Lolita’s loses some points in the salsa department. It’s like Ann Coulter: thin, one-dimensional and really spicy. It’s not as bad as Ann Coulter. More like my Aunt Claudia then: It does the trick but adds little to the meal other than heat. Peppery.

So Lolita’s is really good, folks. There, you have it. But don’t take it from me. This place is doing a brisk business. As a side note, Santana’s is really expanding and is the closest we have to a corporate chain here in town. But they better watch out because Lolita’s does it better—with the salsa as the exception—and they’re expanding with a new location downtown to open soon. Thanks, everyone, for the introduction.  

Lolita’s

7305-A Clairemont Mesa Blvd. (Across from Ranch 99.)

Sometimes you get spoiled. You know something is good, even great, but you—you, in your blithe assurance—you go groping about for better. And as you do your memory of the original fades slightly. What you’ve taken for granted you’ve allowed yourself cut in a shallower relief, you fool!

My father-in-law taught me many things but one that I’d forgotten was the greatness of Las Quatros Milpas. Yes, greatness. As Dr. Burrito, I’ve eaten far and wide—this is my duty—and I’m oftener than not satisfied with what I’ve found. In a general sense, I couldn’t be happier, for nowhere else does the burrito so thrive as my hometown. And yet I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten as the mouthfuls amalgamated in my feeble brain just how great Quatro Milpas is and how it stands like a beacon above the general noise.  

Perhaps I’m a bit enthusiastic. My father-in-law died and I miss him. I thought of him as I stood in the long line and how he stood in the same line not long ago with the same expectant giddiness we may call hunger. Furthermore, I was out with friends on a Friday lunch date. The sun was shining. Barrio Logan glittered. Yes, and the experience was nonetheless and all the more riveting.

I said the experience. We fool ourselves to speak only of the food. Food is a marker, a medium. We break bread. We talk. We notice the others’ sidelong glances in the line as our bellies anticipate the order. We watch the woman pat tortillas perfect among the blue concrete walls. We sit at picnic tables with strangers and share a moment of our lives. But, to isolate the food, insofar as I may, it was, it was …

And not to kick an old dead horse carcass but this is precisely the sort of Mexican-American food that comes only out of San Diego and which must be contrasted with that other prototype, the Mission-style burrito with its frills and filigrees.

So what do you get? Pork and pork fat. Lots of it. It pops on the stove and cackles. Pig skin floats in the salsa, which itself is in no small measure fat. It holds together the flour of your tortilla. There are other meats but, again, that’s what you get, meat, a little iceburg lettuce, a little queso cotija. If you require vegetable matter, there it is on a tray with spoons beside it. Help yourself to onions, cilantro, wedges of lemon. Just don’t dally. The line behind you surges. This is serious, man!

But I should begin again. The food is scrumptious and heavy. You will not leave hungry. The beans are served with or without chorizo. The rice is cooked to a pulp. Both come in a bowl with a folded napkin of the best frickin tortilla you’ve ever eaten.

The burritos aren’t huge. They don’t need to be. The carnitas are not fatty at all. They are perfect: slightly moist, slightly crispy, pungent. The tacos again begin with a great corn tortilla that is then fried crispy with your choice of meat inside and dabbed with lettuce and cotija. To eat here again was to be reminded.

My friends—Lizard and the Bozedozer and the Lizard’s carry-aboard, Moccasin—were soon sated in the blue-walled rooms. We shall return, friends.

Oh, and I met a fellow connoisseur, Clark the Dude, who could just as easily be Dr. Burrito with his brimming passion for Mexican-American food. Thank you for the suggestions, my friend. I take heed. 

So go, but if you do know that the line is long and hours of operation short. They do what they do, and they do it well. If you don’t like it, then you won’t like it: Shuffle along, pal. There’s a place for you, maybe.

Next!

 1857 Logan Ave. (where the long line is)

You would be forgiven for having thought that the landscape of future San Diego taco shops would be red and yellow striped. It seemed a few years back that the red- and yellow-striped drive-throughs—Roberto’s, Alberto’s, myriad Other-berto’s—were on the march. But if they were they didn’t get far.

I was reminded of this a week before Christmas as a red and yellow block building with arched windows and a red and yellow menu was suddenly painted stark white. Then the sign came down. The menus fell and then it was as though this place was never there but always what it now is, a white and red Rigoberto’s, very appropriate for Christmastime when it opened.

I gotta say, I don’t remember the name of the place that preceded it. It was just another red- and yellow-striped drive-through and the food was pretty good—the sort of place we take for granted here in San Diego. And now it’s gone.

To open a restaurant in the current business climate required chutzpah (and a small business loan, which may be harder to come by these days). This alone is good reason to try Rigoberto’s. But I’m also making amends for having forgotten what preceded this, that good old red and yellow monstrosity that in its garishness became anonymous to me.

Consistency, Emerson said, is the hobgoblin of small minds. Well, inconsistency is the hobgoblin of mediocre taco shops. I’ve tried only a couple of burritos here. But if Rigoberto’s can pull this level of quality off consistently, they will last longer than those who came before them.

The burritos of Rigoberto’s—first, they were generous. Second, the tortillas have been properly toasted. Then the ingredients were solid. I had carne asada: good salty meat in a bath of runny green guacamole. I had a veggie: rice, beans, guacamole, cheese, etc., and all of it good.

But the deal breaker was the hot sauce—top notch. As Dr Burrito says, a good burrito should end with a phlegmy cough and this salsa certainly induced that. Then a contented sigh. The world changes and yet remains unchanged.

And they offer spicy carrots, green onions, and radishes with a purchase and even though this is North Park—across from Tobacco Rhoda’s no less—these offerings didn’t look slobbered on and/or dusty. Radishes were down-right crunchy, really.

So if you’re cruising North Park and hunger itches your gut, you are in luck. Drive on through the Christmas-colored bunker or step through its glassy threshold. I’ll be glad you did. I wish these bold efficient mustached men success, chutzpah’s sometimes reward.    

I realize this review is not going to make me very popular. People adore this place. It’s their sanctum santorum in University Heights. I can see why: It’s a pleasant block in a young, pleasant neighborhood. The decorum is tasteful and artistic. You can sit outside and watch the block’s little dogs come and go, its boughs sway. There is a preponderance of seafood on the menu, as well as tofu and vegetables, so it all feels healthy. There is a salsa bar and free carrots and they serve beer cheaper than the trendier restaurants and bars that line this young, leafy block.

But this is all secondary.

What matters primarily is the food, and the food here, though different, is par for the course, sometimes sub-par. The ambiance will not compensate.

Maybe I’m prejudiced. I once lived a couple of blocks away from the Zarape and I looked forward to haunting it because I had been told what everyone has been told, that the food is really good, even that it’s among the best in San Diego. So, after a long day of moving into my new place, I decided to limp down and get some dinner and I decided that I would get something new to me, a scallop burrito.

The scallops were raw!

Completely raw and cold and slimy—even icy. The guy behind the counter was inconvenienced by this. A few minutes later he was smiling and another burrito, hasty and small, lay on my tray like a dead fish. And it wasn’t very good either.

I’ve said before, you can’t judge a taco shop by one visit. Even great taco shops screw up once in a while. Kitchens are small, hot spaces that churn food out quickly and cheaply, so they must be forgiven once. I forgave. I moved on.

And I returned.

As I said, the menu is peppered with things like scallop burritos, tofu/veggie burritos, potatoes and soy in rolled tacos and burritos, and so forth, so it will have you feeling good.

But these are at best a tertiary consideration; more likely, an illusion.

People love the green salsa at El Zarape and there’s reason for it: people love mayonnaise. I suspect that’s what the secret ingredient is. Everyone likes mayo. It’s a universal, like despising a coward, but people play these little mind games and I presume that most of us know there’s mayo in the green salsa but we all keep mum about it.

(I would like to see some loudmouth ladle out some of the green stuff as he pronounces to his better half so everyone can hear: “Hey, honey, your diet and shit—you know there’s mayo in this green salsa, right? Mayo.” The whole place would rise up and smite him from this earth.)

And seafood might be better for you than beef or chicken or cheese—I really don’t know; it might be—but just because you can put langostina or scallops in a burrito, should you? Second, and critically, we are over-fishing our oceans (still feel good about yourself and your scallop burrito?). And third, you are going out for food, so enjoy it and quit being a narcissist for the moment!

At El Zarape expect your burritos to lack the characteristic San Diego toasted finish. Expect burritos to be small and forgettable. It’s not bad per se. It would be great in San Francisco. Alas …

Anyway, I’ve been to the Zarape many times and I will likely return. It’s close for me and, as I said, it’s a nice block and people love it so I would not turn down the invitation. (I will go in disguise.) But the food has never soared much above par and more than once for me it’s fallen short.

Sometimes par is good enough, especially when it’s convenient or when you’re with a good friend. My larger point is a quibble: Despite what you’ve heard, if you are at all an aficionado (and I presume that you are if you are visiting this site) then you will agree: This is not the best taco shop in San Diego.

El Zarape,
4642 Park Blvd.

I don’t want to spot a trend that doesn’t exist here, and I don’t think we are at risk of massive homogenization as the little guys fail and big guys pick up the pieces—not anytime soon—but the world of the taco shop isn’t a static one either. Shit happens.

Lucha Libre is definitely something I wouldn’t have predicted. It’s kitchy and loud and ironic. It has a myspace page and I’m one of their friends. There’s a digital jukebox and a gilded table with a chandelier that, apparently, you can reserve. Very different from the yellow and orange plastic utility of most taco shops.

All this in the place where a good taco shop once stood. Let’s walk down memory lane together …

Many of you youngsters might not believe it, but Valentine’s was once a good place for a meal—and also innovative. It was the first taco shop that I know of in San Diego to feature a “healthy” menu with items like the “Santa Fe Veggie burrito,” which had corn and black beans in it, a salsa bar with cucumbers in it, and rice that was—hard to describe. It was white and sticky and tasted vaguely like poblano chiles. It was weird, tasty rice.

I don’t know what makes black beans healthier than pintos and Valentine’s put more mayo than avocado in their guacamole, but what matters is this: They were putting some personality into it without sacrificing the basics, something that Luche Libre also succeeds in doing.

Next door, Bar Dynamite, once run by a couple of Vietnamese women, was a place where the clientele there took their meals in liquid form with a cigarette. It was a quiet, air-conditioned cave that didn’t much affect Valentine’s.

Until it was redone. Then Bar Dynamite was a place young people go to get loaded and groped, while listening to the latest in shitty music. I’ve been in there once. It smelled like bad gas and cologne.

I’ve said it before: Nothing ruins a good taco shop like a busy bar. After six appeltinis, even a microwaved burrito from 7-11 is “fucking bomb.”

All these drunk people stream out at 2 a.m. looking for something to take their Viagra with and—lo and behold! there it was—Valentine’s, within stumbling distance.

So the fate of Valentine’s was always tied up in that of Bar Dynamite. Or perhaps something else was afoot. I don’t know. At any rate, as Bar Dynamite became cool, the food quality suffered, the tropical fish tanks got dingy, and the people working there seemed to not really care.

And then along comes Lucha Libre. It’s a good place, all said. Their tack is intriguing. Not my style decorating-wise, but they had to have a schtick in that location or the funk of Bar Dynamite will snuff it. They put a lot of work into Lucha Libre and I especially like the Founding Fathers in the bathroom wearing—hey!—lucha libre masks—had me peeing and laughing at the same time.

My burrito was good. A little more expensive than I’m used to, but I’m fine with that. I would much prefer the taco shops of San Diego to raise their prices and compete on food quality. The end of the $3.50 carne asada burrito is near!

The veggie burrito was very greasy but good, especially if instead of rice you request beans. Really good refried beans. And if you get a horchata, it’s all you can drink. Damn! Come thirsty!

The tomatillo chipotle salsa was excellent. Their salsa bar was good generally, although in a couple of cases the flavors needed greater integration. There was too much reconstituted dried chile flavor.

And more important than what I think, they were busy. Not because of Bar Dynamite either. At 8 p.m. on a Friday night they were nearly at capacity, a very good sign.

So, good luck Lucha Libre, and good work. You might be telling us something about the future of the San Diego taco shop.

Lucha Libre

1810 W. Washington St.

The family that runs El Cuervo produces friendly, broad-backed progeny. They take your order quickly and with a smile from up high behind their counter. Behind them you see the magic happening in the galley-like kitchen. It’s very much a family business and it attracts families, generations of them. Look around you.

If you order a combination plate, you will be greeted with a mound of beans, rice, lettuce, pico de gallo, sour cream, and—poking out here and there—little clues as to what lies beneath—a bit of tortilla or some oozing adobo sauce. It’s a big pile of deliciousness.

But I’m Dr. Burrito, you say, not Dr. Plate. Right, right. Ah, so …

Well, the burritos are good. Really good. The last time I was there I had the carnitas, which were excellent. I love their chile relleno burrito. It’s one of the best in town, weighed down with refried beans and sour cream. Damn, I’m hungry again!

Remember: The key to any good burrito is quality ingredients. And so perhaps that’s why I went off in the plates direction right off the bat, because the plates showcase the individual ingredients. This place does everything right. This is San Diego Mexican-American cuisine defined and it’s damn good.

The salsa bar offers several salsas, pickles jalepenos and carrots, radishes, and sliced cucumbers. Don’t get greedy. A minor gripe: the salsas here have gotten increasingly sweet over the years. And the pico de gallo is spiced with pickled jalepenos and carrots, which I’m no fan of. But again, it’s pretty good and it’s free.

Oh, and they serve beer and wine, a couple of my favorite things.

Their chile verde is great. Whether it’s wrapped in a tortilla or served with steaming piles of rice and beans and corn tortillas—it’s still great. Variations on a theme, you see.

And sometimes you prefer the plate to the burrito. Sometimes, it’s the right call to keep all your ingredients cordoned off into their respective troughs of Styrofoam and pick from each like a great heron in the mudflats.

But the great advantage the burrito confers is the melding of flavors. And that’s why I am Dr. Burrito and not Dr. Plate. I believe the sum can be greater than the parts. When it is, it’s mesmerizing, intoxicating. You can get a burrito like this at El Cuervo and I hope you do, friend.

So inspired, the wounded wrap themselves, in their final throes, into their flag, the tortilla, to die. I pledge allegiance. I thee devour.

110 W. Washington St., San Diego, The Big Sickz-One-Nine

In the case of Antonio’s I feign no impartiality. It’s not the first place I would take the person I was trying to convince of the greatness of SD burritos. It’s not the tenth place. But I’m there all the time nonetheless, because it’s good, it’s reliable, it’s near where I work, and mostly because the people who work there are so damn nice.

So there I was, sitting, chewing my 500^th burrito from this place, when it dawned on me: this place is great. I mean it. I love it. It was an epiphany, like in Portrait of the Artist that had me yelling moo-cow at the top of my lungs (in my head) as I left, stepping into the perfect sunshine of a wintry summer day.

Note: Antonio’s does not make a very good carne asada burrito. The meat is sort of stewy and striated and it’s very much like other not-so-good carne asada burritos to be found around town. But because I try not to eat much meat, it’s not what I order most days. I like the vegetarian burrito and the breakfast burritos. The carnitas are not bad at all.

Unfortunately the salsa bar is not tremendous, but it is freshly made and it works all right. The radishes are fresh, sliced, and free. They float in a bath of cold water. The red salsa is watery and not well focused, though it will do the trick. I eat about three hot sauce containers per burrito on average, mostly red, so it can’t be bad.

I like the people who work at Antonio’s. I don’t know who Antonio is, but he attracts nice people. I also like the people who eat at Antonio’s. Not so much the lunch crowd—it’s Paul Mitchell students and business lunchers mostly—but in the mornings when it’s slow or the late afternoon. You see an eclectic mix of retirees, construction workers, soldiers, and anyone else who passes by and feels the magnetic draw to eat. There are big glass windows that over look 6^th and A Street. Plenty to watch.

All of what makes SD’s burritos great emanates from the people. So thank you everyone at Antonio’s for making my days richer, and thank you also San Diegans, you strange tribe, for keeping on as you are.

1350 6th Ave., San Diego

Dear Justin,

Let’s see, where should I begin?  Perhaps with my rebuttal to your ridiculous and narrow accusations about one isolated burrito place (which, by the way, I made absolutely no claims about. I even think I warned you that it wasn’t a good place. Not even in my top 25. And I am sure we could find a burrito in San Diego even you would agree was shitty—oh wait, we did find a shitty burrito in San Diego, at your favorite place, but I’ll get to that later). 

But actually I think I will first point out that rather than talk about the merits of the San Diego burrito, you chose to liken me to a white supremacist who forces fish upon you.  Nice moves, Halpern—distract them from your lack of argument. 

Moving on, and before I get to San Francisco burritos, I would like to offer my criticisms of the San Diego burrito. And prior to your email (and the blog) I was willing to chalk our disagreement up to preference.  But when backed against a wall, I will lash back. 

Remember when you and Dan took me to what you talked up as your favorite place for a burrito?  I was ready to love it.  Up to the moment I bit in.  The first bite was nothing but tortilla.  Okay, fine, it happens.  But then when the second and third and fourth bites all consisted of nothing but hard, chewy tortilla that poked my gum with one of its sharp corners and made my eyes water.

I knew I was in trouble.  By the time I got to the filling imagine my surprise to find—french fries! 

Now, I can get down with french fries turning up in crazy places, and I was game for them in the burrito.  But please, let them be hot and perhaps cooked the same day they arrive the burrito.  They were cold hard mush (talk about cutting corners).  Which really dampened my experience of the surprisingly delicious steak and fresh avocado. 

But those two things are not exclusive to the San Diego burrito, my friend, and can’t make up for the cracker-like tortilla or the cold mushy potato.

Brief interlude to mention the way you like to eat your meat.  That is to say, cooked within an inch of turning to stone, lacking all possible evidence of moisture from a cut of animal caked with dried spices.  Just think that is relevant when we are talking about ingredient quality.

In Defense of Tin Foil and Rice: The burritos are big in San Francisco.  I usually make two meals out of one.  And for that I am so grateful for the tin foil that it has been wrapped in, like a birthday present to take me all the way to lunch the next day (french fries would not make this journey well). 

Also my hands don’t get messy.  And I can set it down on its end when I need to take a break. Or to eat the filling with chips, as I like to do.  Including the rice.  I like rice.  I think it is delicious and in my mind makes the burrito a complete meal. 

But I agree, sometimes it doesn’t belong.  And in those instances I have my favorite places that don’t serve rice (that’s right, you read correctly, no rice at a taqueria in San Francisco).  Or I request to not have it. Or I order a nice quesadilla suiza or  taco or torta or eat sushi (only if you aren’t in town though, sweetie). 

Luckily whatever my mood the fine restaurant culture of this city can offer it to me, including burritos. San Francisco burritos vary.  That you can be sure of and I would never say they were all good.

But the delicious ones have amazingly fresh ingredients that are wrapped up so neatly in a tin foil package that don’t rely on the meat to carry the whole burrito.  And you will never need to eat two (as I saw many people doing in San Diego, which really just shoots your bargain meal to shit).

OK… I love you!

Amanda

Dear Amanda,

Hey, baby. So Crawford asked if you and I could partake in a debate concerning the differences between San Francisco and San Diego burritos. First, let me say this, I don’t hold it against you that you feel San Francisco burritos are superior. It’s sort of how a child, born in to a family of Ku Klux Klan members, has no choice but to adopt the idea that the white race is superior to other races. The child knows nothing else but the people and ideas that surround him and simply soaks up their racist beliefs. In your case, replace “Ku Klux Klan” with “San Francisco” and replace “white race” with “San Francisco Burritos.”

The problem with the SF burrito is that it’s a burrito made solely for profit. The primary goal of the burrito is to make as much money off of it as possible. Their plan is both genius and evil, and it comes in two parts.

1) Make the burrito large: Remember when you took me to that burrito place on 16th street because we we’re going to a seafood restaurant with your friends later, and I don’t eat seafood, so I had to eat dinner before we ate dinner? Well, I remember a guy in front of me in line, ordering a burrito that was so big, it looked like it had eaten two other burritos. Then when I commented on it’s size, the guy was like “you can’t even handle this burrito, bro.” First off, that guy doesn’t know what I can or cannot handle. Secondly, he was right, I couldn’t handle that burrito. No normal human being could. That burrito was “sorority girl who just got dumped, then got drunk and now it’s 1 in the morning and she’s hungry” huge. It was too huge. But for him, he thought: “what value I’m getting!” Which brings me to my point.

By making the burrito incredibly large, it gives the consumer the illusion that they are, in fact, getting a deal. People always think bigger means better. But look at Delta Burke. She was bigger, but I think we can all agree she certainly wasn’t better than any of the other members of designing women.

2) Cheap ass ingredients: So, you think you’ve gotten a good deal because you have such a large burrito in front of you, but SF burritos are filled with mostly what? That’s right, rice and beans. The two cheapest things you could possibly put in a burrito. If we look at what goes into a burrito, using standard supermarket prices, it breaks down like this:

Steak/carne asada: (cheap estimate) 2.49/ lb
Pinto beans, dry: 0.49/lb
Brown rice, dry: 0.20/lb
Fresh Salsa: 2.99/lb
Cheddar cheese: 13.00/lb

So, basically, a SF burrito is filled with the two cheapest ingredients available to a burrito. Therefore, even though it’s much larger than the San Diego Burrito, in reality, you’re getting far less in terms of your money.

Thus, the question becomes, would you rather have an incredibly large burrito filled with cheap ingredients, or a burrito filled with the pricier, more desirable ingredients that’s a tad smaller?

The above are just facts. I didn’t touch upon the way the carne asada is spiced and cooked in SF; your horrendous, rubber-esque tortillas; or even the ridiculous tinfoil you wrap around them. I simply stated indisputable facts.

By the way, I love you and look forward to seeing you this weekend.

Yours,
Justin

You decide. You could cross the street to South Beach and get an overrated fish taco on a flour tortilla with some limp salsa fresca and wait in line to do so. Or you could go to El Rodeo and talk to the crazy guy behind the counter and the crazy shirtless guy standing behind you in line who is somehow smoking a cigarette, whistling, and talking all at the same time.

El Rodeo is a hit-or-miss place but it’s about location this time, as well as nostalgia or sympathy or something. I just like it.

I mean, if I’m with my grandma, it’s South Beach. If I want a good beer, South Beach. Oh-my-god-OB-is-so-funky, I’m-gonna-tie-my-labradoodle-out-front-and-wave-to-it-between-sips ambiance, South Beach. But the rest of the time, I’ll take a Bud tall boy from the store and my Azteca burrito down past the sea wall and enjoy living.

If the sky is open and there’s a mist hanging above the water, it might just be San Diego living at its finest (a free tip, Eileen Myles). Ahoy, a drum circle!

My wife loves the Azteca burrito: eggs, bean, salsa fresca, and sour cream. Their carnitas are sometimes excellent, but like I said, it’s all kind of hit or miss. Relax, bro, you’re half a block from the ocean.

And also the guy who sometimes works the counter has given me some great advice. That’s always a plus. And you can get a tattoo upstairs, something to ponder as you chew if that damned shirtless dude would stop chewing and whistling.

5060 Newport Ave., The People’s Republic of Ocean Beach