said no Juan ever.
Californian Mexican food is insanely good so while we were there, we headed out for burritos.
The Mission District in San Francisco is a bit seedy; not really dangerous, but not exactly Madison in the east 60’s, either.
But the burritos are there.
Under the palms.
The holy grail of Mexican, El Farolito’s Taqueria.
Crowded, noisy and not the least bit swank,
I had perhaps my most memorable burrito, ever.
It was about the same size as my head. Spoon for scale.
Beans and rice and carnitas pork, with a delicious homemade salsa and real-deal guacamolé.
I never dreamed I’d finish it. And then I did.
Wolfed it down.
So delicious. So cheap.
And washed down with cane sugar,
Mexican Coke, too.
If only their bagels were this good.