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By slim Jim Puvee
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Chipotle
2507 W. Clifton Ave., Clifton, and other locations
I haven't eaten fast food for years. The industry's well-documented exploitation of just about everything is enough to spoil my McAppetite. So imagine my dismay when a friend recently pointed out the hypocrisy of my boycotting McDonald's while being a once-a-week devotée of Chipotle (more addiction than devotion) ... which is owned by McDonald's. So I took this assignment as an opportunity to (1) eat a burrito and (2) feel OK about eating the burrito.
Eating the burrito. Chipotle's cafeteria-style assembly line -- like Subway, except the food is actually appealing -- is approached by patrons with a get-down-to-the-business-of-feeding-me attitude. I've never witnessed an employee phased by any sort of unusual request, such as, "Can you fold mine the other way? Yeah, that way everything mixes together." I've never seen Taco Bell take customers this seriously.
The line entails a choice of Burrito, Fajita-Burrito (sautéed peppers and onions, no beans), Burrito Bol (tortilla-less, in a bowl), Taco or Nachos. Meats, marinated or braised in chipotle adobo, include pork ($5.50), shredded beef ($5.25), chicken ($4.85) or steak ($5).
On a recent visit to the Clifton location, I select my usual: Vegetarian Burrito ($4.75) with black beans (pintos also available). I bypass the hot tomatillo salsas in favor of a combination of the sweetly piquant roasted chili-corn and pulpous, slightly tangy fresh tomato. Toppings are simple: lettuce, Monterey Jack cheese, guacamole (an additional $1.25 for non-vegetarian orders) and sour cream. I love the cilantro-lime rice, moist but never a soppy, brown muddle. My only occasional complaint is the rice and beans are no longer piping hot by the first bite.
Feeling OK about eating the burrito. Despite the efficient assembly line, Chipotle doesn't feel like fast food. Blond wood, industrial steel, exposed ductwork and Mayan-inspired artwork seem to mirror the food's concept: earthy ingredients wrapped up in spacey silver foil.
Beginning in Denver in the early '90s, Chipotle is now owned by McDonald's, but seems to think for itself. Minimal packaging and the use of free-range pork (they're working on free-range chicken) make Chipotle a more conscientious franchise than many.
The food is a wholesome, fiber-filled anomaly in quick-serve, not to mention one of the few quick-serve spots to include the word "vegetarian" on its menu. And though subscribing to the mentality of "the super-sized the better," this is quality, not just quantity.
-- Emily Lieb
Habanero
358 Ludlow Ave., Clifton
I confess to a trivial habit with certain foods that more than a few dinner guests have found neurotic if not repulsive (frequently diminishing any chance of a second date): I like to mix separate items on my plate together into one larger, occasionally colorful, stew-like mound. This is particularly true of rice with beans and a variety of vegetables, and mashed potatoes with anything. At home, without the discerning eye of company, I'll layer odd combinations of food in a bowl, and -- apologies to my brethren chefs -- stir it all together. So an item like a burrito suits me beautifully, and a burrito counter like Habanero, where I can choose from a variety of interesting items, is goulash glory.
Habanero is not a typical Mexican burrito joint. Rather, it embraces a wider region of Latin-American fare with ingredients such as mango, apple, squash and roasted eggplant. Although meats like pork and chicken dominate -- there's even a burrito with mahi-mahi -- there are plenty of appealing vegetarian choices beyond the familiar beans, rice and cheese.
Habanero features two distinctive vegetarian selections in their Signature Dishes ($5.95 each): the Tofu Tango (roasted eggplant, tofu, pinto beans, rice and smoky tomato chipotle salsa) and Chuba Cabre (cinnamon-roasted squash, rice, pinto beans and apple green chili salsa). Both are similar in exotic appeal yet slightly different: The tofu burrito tastes darker and smokier, while a predominant sweetness lingered from the Chuba Cabre. We also tried a create-your-own vegetarian version ($4.95) with black beans and rice, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, tomato and a bite-my-ass, sweet/hot, mango and jalapeño salsa. I loved it and was grateful for its sinus-clearing after effect.
Each dish offered in traditional burrito style (wrapped in a large flour tortilla) or "naked" (open-faced on a plate). I recommend ordering the open-face style: During both of my visits, I ordered burrito-style and was frustrated with the mechanics and quality. Large -- as in two hands and a big mouth (pause for a Seinfeld moment here) -- and sloppy, the flour tortilla disintegrates into a wet, doughy mess in minutes, leaving most of the ingredients to fall to the plate anyway. Despite my preference for unusual ingredients, soggy dough is not one.
Other than this minor irritation, every burrito I've eaten at Habanero ranges from good-enough to quite tasty (I'm actually partial to their exceptional bean salads served in an edible bowl which appeals to my aforementioned food fixation). With a made-to-order time of less than five minutes (the two of us were out in a half-hour), Habanero is also a great choice for a quick bite.
-- Donna Covrett
Burrito Joe's
Kenwood Towne Center and other locations
Although I'm not a huge fan of Mexican food, even I know a bad burrito when I taste one. If you have a perverse desire for a truly depressing burrito, go to Burrito Joe's. It's rare to have a life-changing culinary experience in a mall food court. Knowing this, I nevertheless made my way to Kenwood Towne Center and perused the fare at Burrito Joe's with a light heart and an open mind.
I ordered three burritos ($4.65 each): the "classic chicken" (when asked, the bored-looking young man behind the counter said it was one of the most popular choices, and he reached over as he said this and dipped the ladle repeatedly into the meat mixture in what I suppose he fancied was an enticing way, but it really wasn't -- I forced my eyes away and said, "OK"), a black bean burrito and one of the specials, Southwest BLT Burrito.
The vegetarian burrito was -- well, what's Spanish for "mushy?" It consisted of beans and skimpy rice, American cheese, shredded lettuce, jalapeños and salsa wrapped in a listless tortilla. Distinctly sad and forgettable. The BLT burrito was bacon overkill, with a paucity of lettuce and the merest whisper of tomato. The overabundance of pig meat canceled out any benefits the special chipotle mayonnaise might have otherwise conferred.
The classic chicken's treatment of stewed bird ironically was the best, featuring, in addition to the unprepossessing meat itself, the standard-order rice, beans, cheese, jalapeños, olives and onions with hot, medium or mild salsa. At least it wasn't too watery, and it tasted all right. (Yes, that is damning with faint praise.)
Burrito Joe's offers only the one vegetarian burrito. There are other non-meat menu items, however: chips and salsa ($1.35) or cheese ($2.75) and a bean salad ($5.50), taco ($1.80) or a bowl of beans ($1).
These are not the gigantor burritos you get from someplace like Chipotle. They also compared unfavorably to Chipotle's for freshness and crispness of ingredients, being liquidy, lank and lacking in zip. With some fast-food restaurants, you still sense a pride in the product: The staff prepare food with outward expressions of care. Not so at Burrito Joe's. I went in the early afternoon, after any lunch rush, and the preparation was almost aggressively blasé. There were no other customers, so I can only chalk this up to lack of enthusiasm for the product. Three burritos later, I know why.
-- Sian Gibby
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