San Francisco’s El Farolito is a place where hangovers go to die, a dark, loud, balmy sliver of a restaurant on Mission just off 24th Street that serves food well into the small hours of the morning. The chips are lousy, the salsa is timid, but goddamn do those guys know how to put out a fine burrito.
Farolito’s version weighs in at just under two pounds. The tortilla, roughly the size of a manhole cover, is first gently coaxed into pliability on the griddle, then layered with great mounds of pinto beans and orange rice, avocado and sour cream, cheese, salsa, and, of course, about eight ounces of finely chopped carne asada.
It lands with a thud on your table, a warm package wrapped tight in shiny foil. You peel it back like a present and for one brief moment it feels like Christmas has come early. This is not a moment for subtlety. You won’t think about how the char of the beef plays beautifully off the heat of the salsa and the acidity of the sour cream. In fact, if your tasting notes move much beyond “holy shit”, you’re trying too hard.
Truth. Thanks, Qtown.
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- archange1770 said: Farolito is Spanish for star or lighthouse, beacon
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- byronic said: I left my heart in San Francisco. Specifically in a Mission burrito joint.
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