I went to Chipotle tonight with one simple goal: to document the “typical” Chipotle experience. Nothing special—just everything that happens in between the words, “Can I get a chicken burrito with black beans–“ to the wax paper sliding off the red plastic basket into the trash at the very end. I went solo to in an attempt to keep the variables as controlled as possible. Keep it “typical.” What I forgot, however, is that Chipotle doesn’t do “typical;” Chipotle does “transcendental.” Chipotle does, “Welcome to paganism. Prepare to worship a flower tortilla filled with meat, cheese and pico de gallo for the rest of your life.” In other words, Chipotle does amazing.
And tonight was no different.
I should have known something was up when I saw the line out the door. Despite Chipotle’s immense popularity, this rarely happens. Granted it was around 7:00pm on a school night next to one of the largest universities in the country, but still—I could sense something was different.
The air was cold and brisk and every other word that’s been used to describe a foggy February night in Seattle. In line behind me was a girl on her cell phone and in front of me a group of three guys, one of whom was clad only in a t-shirt. After about five minutes one of them turned to me and asked, “Do you want a free burrito?” and thrust a white stub of paper towards me.
“Do I—Do I want—Do I want a…” I couldn’t talk. No matter how hard I tried to stimulate my vocal chords no sound came out.
“Thank you,” I finally managed. “What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, they’re doing something for career week. Giving out free burritos. We had an extra one.”
“I’m in love with you,” I said. “I know you’re a man, but I. Am. In. Love. With. You.” I contemplated kneeling on the concrete and kissing his feet.
The line moved quickly as it usually does. Up ahead at the glass counter separating the ingredients from the seething masses I could see the whir of hands deftly assembling burritos. When I got to the front of the line I did something I had never done before. Before I could stop myself the words were already out of my mouth. “Can I get burrito with half steak half chicken?” I asked. I felt my balls drop about a half inch but the guy behind the counter didn’t even flinch. And he didn’t do half scoops either. Two full scoops of free range chicken and marinated slow-grilled beef. I almost started crying.
When I got to the end I realized that because this burrito would be free I could get guacamole and not have to pay the $1.62 extra (yes, it went up). So I did. And she heaped it on in great mounds, and before anyone knew it the chicken and steak was swimming in green goodness.
The word “jovial” sort of begins to describe the atmosphere in Chipotle when I sat down. Imagine Christmas morning, Thanksgiving afternoon, evening on St. Patricks day, midnight on Halloween, and sunset on the longest day of the year—all rolled into one—and you kind of get the idea. I saw complete strangers with their arms around each other embracing like old friends; A girl passing around her burrito urging everyone to take a bite insisting between gasps and smiles that it was “the best she’d ever had.” I sat there, taking it all in, methodically biting on the gift from above that had be presented to me just minutes before. Have you ever experienced what it’s like to bite into a burrito and taste chicken, guacamole, AND steak? I wish you had, just so I wouldn’t have to try to describe it. How do you describe an experience in which you didn’t even feel present in your body, but rather hovering a few feet above, unable to do anything but nod approvingly?
Just before I got up to leave a girl in the round table next to me asked a person in line (the line was inside the restaurant at this point, snaking between tables, something I’ve never seen before and will probably never see again) if he would take a picture of her group, and I thought to myself, In the last two days, I have seen two situations in which people have asked strangers to take their pictures: One was at the beach in Maui, and the other was this evening at Chipotle. Which of course begs the comparison and the eventual question: Would you rather have thirty minutes at Chipotle or thirty minutes in Maui. Thirty minutes in paradise, or thirty minutes at the beach?
I think you know my answer.
-Wetzler
This entry was written by , posted on February 8, 2009 at 11:40 pm, filed under Chipotle and tagged boyz, chicken burrito, Chipotle, girls, guacamole, happiness, in line, pico de gallo, steak burrito. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.