So what am I saying? Well, most of the feedback I get from this site is from a guy hawking something called Tramadol in South Florida. There have been great moments, but overall, I feel like I’ve let you down–which is perplexing because I also feel like “you” often don’t exist (and my google analytics verify that)–which is also my fault. Ahg! So you see my predicament?

I love burritos. I’m still eating a few a week, and I don’t see that changing. I thought through this site I’d make some discoveries, and perhaps I shall. But progress is slow due to my lack of intertia and time and the nature of insights. The insights I have gained have been small. (Did you know that at El Porvenir, the oldest continuously run restaurant in San Diego, they began making salsa out of dried chilis because the proprietor, who confessed this to me, was lazy and didn’t like fresh ingredients that would go bad, so she banished them from the kitchen? That’s amazing, to me.) I thought I’d do a trip to Sonora and discover the origins of the gigantic wheat tortilla. I thought I’d go to TJ and taste around down there. LA too. I thought I’d figure out where this form came from and share that insight. I haven’t really done that, and I’m not convinced that anyone besides me really cares or that I have the time or will to convince anyone why they should care.

(Quickly: you should care beacuse this form of burrito is unique to this region and that alone says something, profound I think. Because our oldest restaurants are Mexican-American, our culture is Mexican-American, and this food product is a way of examining both sides of the border and how they’ve come to be for the average, burrito-eating person–not through the lens of politics or monied interest or any of the other vantages that typically hog our history. This is ultimately about us in San Diego now. And goddamn they taste good.)

So, if you do check in here from time to time, the theme is going to change–if there’s to be a theme at all. I have the site, might as well use it. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to the night. That’s all right. Better than spitting into the wind!

Paz, C

I am reminded again about why I became curious about San Diego burritos: They are different—why?

You can make this statement/question about any two distinct things, I suppose, but burritos are what I grew up eating, San Diego burritos.

In Albuquerque, the tortillas are thicker, almost like pita. The prices are somewhat higher, like closer to $5 for a burrito, and they are considerably smaller than out here.

They aren’t served with hot sauce. Instead, they ask: red or green chile? Ingredients are up to you. You get at least three. I saw potatoes, cheese, beef, beans, chicken, etc. Then they are folded over—with open ends! A mess!

And do you know what?  They’re really, really good. The beans are runny and gooey. The chiles are fresh and spicy. Best of all, the cheese is melted.

Like San Diego, the taquerias serve other food, but burritos are the mainstay, food for busy people.

The other interesting thing to me was learning, as I walked through Bandelier National Monument, that the Pueblo Indians traded with the indigenous people of mainland Mexico. They have parrot remains in the north of New Mexico that are 1,000s of years old. So there was a latitudinal transfer in this land despite the mighty Sonoran desert. They ate corn primarily, like the Mexicans, and rounded it out with beans and squash, the Mesoamerican diet.

This is different from the American Indians around San Diego, which doesn’t have nearly the Indian presence that New Mexico does. How this affects burritos, I’m not sure. But I’m sure that it does.  Everything does.

So I continue to wonder: why this and not another? From where do our traditions arise? Will they be lost some day?

Sang Bob Dylan, “Nothing is better, nothing is best. Take heed of these words and get plenty of rest.”

You do, Johnathan, so why ask?

Gold has a Pulitzer, he gives interviews on NPR, and now, in his most ambitious role yet, he’s talking shit about the San Diego burrito.

On behalf of all of San Diego County, Johnathan, I’m–I’m not pissed. I’m confused by the “oozing tubes of cheese” description. A quesadilla? Moreover, I’m annoyed with this whole snarky blogger I’m-gonna-tell-you-how-it-is tone. It’s doctrinaire, and it’s bitchy.

Johnathan: So you have a list of five good taco shops; you possess a few Spanish vocabulary words; you’ve created some rules (e.g., no rice on a burrito!) and established your comfort zone; you have your hallowed commute to East LA, always with some so-and-so. Good for you. You’ve found what all hipsters seek and obsess over: perceived authenticity. And you have an audience who finds you credible, maybe even adventurous, an authority.

But long commutes across a hazy gridwork to arrive at some ethnic enclave aren’t necessary here in San Diego, not for burritos. We can walk to our taquerias in Barrio Logan as well as La Jolla. No, there’re not all great but these are the primary considerations: quality and flavor. It might be a Chicano thing, but not necessarily.

But you don’t care. You’ve met your deadline and it sounds nice, sort of authentic. Good for you.

Folks!

2008 people are saying was a rough one and I get that but mine was OK as they go. They are individual things as well, these things we call years. I hope yours was not so bad and let’s all hope that 2009 is better. And by better I don’t just mean better than 2008 but I mean, unhinged from this recent past, with noble imagination as referrent. Let’s all work together to appreciate this planet and to live, if not happily, then contentedly and with respect for all living things, even little bouncing fleas. Or at least marmots and llamas and things like them. God damn it, said Vonnegut, you’ve got to be kind! Yeah, and have some fun. Especially that.

So I just got back from the desert and it was, as usual, very nice. I feel calm. The stars … the odors that rose in the dawn from the wash … the light … the shadows … the friends … Yes. As usual it was a refreshing grind that offered contrast to that daily one. Let’s do that again.

And coming home hunger struck. Suddenly it struck. There were many options but I said, “Hark! Let’s wait til El Cajon. I know in yonder El Cajon a proper burrito can be found!” And it was. The first of 09.

It was perfect. Yes, perfect. It was a strange little taqueria like a folded piece of paper called, appropriate for the theme of this year, El Compadre. My compadre behind the counter described to me the ingredients of the chile relleno (which, somehow, are exactly the same as the ingredients at La Posta in Hillcrest: chile relleno, lechuga, y salsa enchilada–the only two that I know that do it just so) and I said, Si, pero lo quiero con frijol. And he did it no extra charge. Happy New Year!

The result: stunning as we drove homeward into the winter sun. And very generous. Again, the salsa was La Posta-esque, which is to say like spicy, fresh-cut grass. Strange, delicious.

And a happy New Year to you, friend! Y las pulgas!

Paz on earth.