Chipotle: A Decade in Review

I first tried Chipotle in 2002 and I thought it was slightly above average for the cost. I was 17 and made $6.75 an hour at Blockbuster Video. That means an hour of rewinding tapes (2002) and catching would-be criminals in the act of stealing Xbox video games —-inspired by terrorists, they would use box cutters to cut a thin line in our plastic boxes, pop out the disc, and leave within a matter of seconds— would earn me baby-sized burrito wrapped in foil.

At first I noticed only the negatives—- too little steak, too much cilantro in the rice, sour cream the consistency of shampo0, ingredients not incorporated. For a while, I was a casual Chipotle user.

Then it happened: the first Chipotle craving that could only be the result of some type of chemical dependency that would cause you to do something you wouldn’t normally do—like leave your sleeping girlfriend to have a burrito tryst complete with after-dinner mint to mask the indiscretion. I haven’t looked back.

According to my bank statements, it’s rare that a week goes by that I don’t eat at Chipotle. When I briefly lived in New York, I would take the train alone into the city to get the fix.

I’ve watched the Netflix documentaries. I once befriended a store manager so that I could get a tour. I found out that they prepare Barbacoa sous vide. I saw that they used Daisy sour cream and I haven’t bought anything but since.

I beamed with pride seeing Chipotle featured in Food Inc. I once didn’t eat all day and had two burritos at 5 for a lesson in the law of diminishing returns. I vowed to never disrepect the establishment again.

I have yet to make the pilgrimage to Denver but I did write corporate once in the mid 2000s half to show appreciate and half to imply that I should have developed the concept. This earned my the designation of Master Burrito Ambassador which got me two shirts and a deck of 52 free burrito cards.

If the day is particularly shitty? Chipotle. If the day is particulary exceptional? Chipotle.

I have tried every menu item. Carnitas and brown rice are for those who appreciate them.

I’ve seen hopeful people have first and last dates wrapped in industrial steel chairs. I’ve watched shameless people lift bottles of Tobasco sauce in their Michael Kors bags. I’ve come in right after open and right before close (but always with apologies).

Chipotle is still a mystery.

Chipotle wants you to believe that you love it because it’s delicious. Incomplete.

Chipotle is transcendent because, unlike so many experiences in life, you get to partner in the co-creation of pleasure. From the time that you give you begin your order and settle your account, you are a god creating mountains and valleys of rice and beans with only your spoken word.

I’ve seen people get lost in this fantasy and you see glimpses of how cruel they would be as kings.

“More, MORE!”

“NO! I said MILD!!”

All manners seemingly disposed of when drunk with momentary power. The people behind the glass now shrunk to serfs in your temporary kingdom.

Yet, for all its glory, Chipotle is not perfect. Single customers making multiple orders, a medium salsa as exciting as the NFL Preseason, and margaritas that require a down payment serve as rare displeasures in an otherwise flawless experience.

Ah yes, I suppose I should also share what a decade’s experience has rendered—-the recipe for the perfect burrito.

Slightly extra white rice, black beans, 1/2 chicken, 1/2 steak, light mild, corn, and hot salsas, slightly extra sour cream, cheese and lettuce. Chipotle Tabasco to taste. And, if you have known love, a Coca-Cola Classic.