I decide to walk the extra 10 minutes past my hotel with my camera backpack and a duffel bag in tow to answer my stomach’s queasy call — bur-ri-to.
This is my day-after-drinking feeling and only a burrito can cure it. I remember there’s a burrito joint I had every intention of visiting a week prior when I was in town for a book reading and the start of my Italian trip. At the last minute, I opted for the Thai noodle spot next to my hotel. This time there would be no substitute. I’m craving flour tortilla, corn, salsa, chicken, and some guacamole that almost always costs an extra euro.
I walk into Burrito Company and am pleased to find what I am expecting. There are just a few tables and one black barrel that looks like a reused oil drum turned table where a father and young son are eating. Couples occupy the other two — one a German pair, the other a Japanese-American one, and one that seems to be of German siblings. There’s a card to fill out with a pen to check off your order. It’s all there — flour tortilla, beans, cheese, salsa, and guacamole for an extra euro. Heaven, I am at your doorstep.
As I’m filling it out, another gentleman is placing his order and asks how long the wait will be. He’s ordered his zum Mitnehmen (to go).
“Drei Minuten,” the college-aged woman behind the counter replies. Three. Minutes.
“Wow! Super schnell.“ Very fast.
Hearing this makes me feel a sense of joy I hadn’t experienced the entire day. I know that within five short minutes I’ll have a burrito in my face.
I place my order and sit down toward the back against the storefront windows. Even without eating anything yet, I know this is a place I’d come to often if I lived in Munich’s Maxvorstadt neighborhood.
There’s a surfboard in the corner outfitted with the Burrito Company logo and mostly 90s music playing with a mix of popular American classics. The burrito comes, “Yo-e?”
The “J” is silent in German, so I’ve grown accustomed to answering calls for half a yo-yo.
“Hier,” I say raising my hand, unable to hide my smile.
It’s wrapped perfectly, like a Christmas present begging to be torn to shreds. The lift is glistening off the aluminum foil as I tear it open from one end to reveal my prize. I sink my teeth into the soft flour tortilla and am immediately in my happy place. Circumstances likely contributed, but I quickly decide that this is the best fast-food burrito I’ve had in Europe.
In a moment of adrenaline-fueled gluttony, a ponder ordering a second.
“No… you shouldn’t! You couldn’t! You mustn’t!”
Wisely, I opt against forcing too much of a good thing. The moment is what it needed to be. I am satiated, and more importantly, that burrito is now in a better place.
For more on Burrito Company, check out some words from Munich Bites.