And now I give you a photo of my brother Jason eating a super carne asada, number 75 on 7x7's Big Eat. Look! An authentic bearded hipster eating an authentic Mexican burrito!
Jason! Jason! How is it?
The finer points of an El Farolito burrito: It's hefty. You'll need both hands. The tortilla is magnificently, tooth-sinkingly soft. And then there are all kinds of big glops of things inside. Plenty of cream, and cheese, and red flecks of salsa and chile floating around. You'll encounter the occasional slice of buttery avocado. Please note: We're not talking carefully balanced. Stephen was annoyed that all his steak landed on one side, and all his beans to the other. "Smush it! Re-smush it!" we advised. In the realm of big beefy burritos, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Picture overhead lighting, questionably clean linoleum tables, the finest jams Mexican radio can provide, and a line of chatty twenty-somethings pushing eagerly through the door.
My personal recommendation: It's best to go when you're incredibly famished or incredibly drunk or, preferably, both.