Burrito BoxThis was one of those serendipitous finds that make you realize that you haven’t been to like two percent of the places in The City. What was a first-time find for me seemed like a cult following to most everyone else in there. Making sense of the handwritten signs, bizarre line construction and general chaos of the tiny place was a challenge that honestly made this rookie a little nervous. I don’t love to be rushed when I make my menu choices, and often end up ordering some seriously gross shit because of it, but I certainly felt the pressure here. After raising my blood pressure to ungodly levels, I settled on the chicken mole burrito–always a good call. I swear like twelve other people tried to take my order, but after biting some aggressive chick in a pinstriped pantsuit on the wrist and resting my burrito out of her grimy clutches, I dashed from the joint like I ate a whole vat of black beans. I had about ten minutes to find a place to eat this thing (which, in the bag, seemed to weigh about as much as a Jack Russell Terrier) before I had to get to a hair appointment, and sidled up to a table at that weird little park thing on 9th Ave. and 57th. In my haste to get out of there, I failed to secure even close to enough napkins. If you don’t know, mole sauce is very, very messy. I pulled out the massive filled tortilla and realized right away that it was gonna be interesting. The thing was tasty, and had I more paper products, more time and a stomach twice the size; I would have been able to finish the thing. As it stood, I finished about half of it, wiped my hands on this really fat chocolate lab that somebody let sit too close to me and felt completely okay with that because the price was like half of what you’d pay normally for a burrito of that length and girth. [MF]