Stick with Pasties in Devonshire, by A. Burrito Snob
The Jordans love burritos, but finding a good one in the old country is tough. Dónde están?! We got lucky with a decent place in Paddington Station, but since then, nada. This changed when we arrived in Plymouth on Friday and came upon “Bar Burrito” when browsing for cheap eats in the old part of town called the Barbican. Our excitement turned to intrigue, then dismay, and finally outright horror as the rosy-cheeked, friendly, and very British server began building my burrito (I went first). From the small set of steam trays behind him, he retrieved a large spoonful of plain white rice and dumped it on the (unwarmed) tortilla. Replying to my request for beans with “yes, lovely,” he turned around again and produced not ladle of pinto or black beans, but refried beans, scraped from the small tray with a spatula and spread on the tortilla alongside the rice, like bread on butter (not kidding). After requesting additional beans three times, I realized the futility of my effort and moved onto the salsa, a sort of Mediterranean concoction, with cucumbers and bell peppers. Cheese was next, a small spoonful of extra sharp cheddar (not an especially melty cheese). Sour cream and guacamole, squirted from a tube, gave me some hope for moisture while the last of the fillings, a very generous handful of mixed greens (is that watercress and arugula in there?), added some bulk for a decent sized, if somewhat lightweight, burrito once rolled up. Mick and Jeff, having witnessed the aforementioned bean-spreading, decided to go with the BBQ pulled pork and chili con carne (respectively). Whether it was my extreme hunger or the interesting margarita I had (one shot of tequila, the juice of one lime, and lemonade to fill the glass), it wasn’t half bad. Still, I think I’ll stick to fish ‘n’ chips and pasties for a while.