I confess. I have had quite the love affair with you Chipotle, and not from afar either. It’s been a passionate cornucopia of taste bud delightfulness from the first day I met you. But now, my heart is speaking here not my taste buds, we are on the verge of a divorce.
Even though you did come riding out on your burro burritos-ablazin’ in 1993 in Denver, it wasn’t until a fall day in Chicago in the year 2000 (or so, details are fuzzy when it comes to love) when I first encountered you. I was in awe of your selection, your speed and the quality of your fare. Frankly, without apologies, it was love at first bite.
You, however, were not my first love. Way back in the days when phones still had cords that were (unless your parents were rich) only 3 feet long so everyone within the confines of the kitchen knew who and what you were talking about I fell for the new fast-food kid on the block. I was a niño of seven, and these Americans pretending to be Mexicans were fresh, lovely and enticing.
Well maybe not so fresh but again, I was seven. Everything was fresh back then at Taco Bell. Yes, they were the first to hold me to their faux-Mexican bosom and feed me Mexican-Americanized delights. The first offering I tasted I loved – the Chili Burger which was soon changed to the Bellburger then soon after changed to the Bell Beefer. Yep. Taco Bell had a burger which was effectively a Mexicanish sloppy joe. Imagine if you will, Taco Bell’s basic ground beef liberally splashed with mild sauce, topped with cheese and squished between soft luscious buns. Loved it, but it went away. Was I crushed? A bit sad for certain but there were so many other delights on the Taco Bell menu board to try. Plus, at the time ALL of them (except for the Bellburger) had pronunciations next to them. I could get a “buh-ree-toh” or a “toh-stah-dah” or just a plain old “tah-coh.”
It was an affair that would last the better part of 45 years.
Fancy Boys Club 