I can’t help but feel that this place must have served as the storeroom for the other Hell’s Kitchen Burritoville a mere five blocks away. What other excuse could this chain have for setting up shop in such a cockamamie space? The two times I’ve been here, and every day I walk by (it’s on the same block as my office), there are tons of boxes stacked almost to the ceiling right next to the dining area and front counter. The industrial, half-finished look of the space makes it feel more like a place more accustomed to slaughtering cows than serving them. The experience is akin to ordering a taco in your neighborhood mechanic’s garage or that machine shop with the dead fern in the foggy window. Maybe it’s not even an official franchise and the guys are just squatting? Maybe they’re like a splinter group from the restaurant up the street? Or perhaps they’ve just come to torture us with more so-so Mexican food that can seriously rip apart a lower intestine with a single scoop of black beans. Whatever the case, it would probably behoove you, if you value your health, to avoid ordering from a joint that could so easily hide mouse turds in its enchiladas. [MF]
352 W 39th St.
212/560-9088
