Chipotle Mexican Grill, Westwood

Chipotle Mexican Grill, Westwood

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  1. Put a sombrero on me and hand me a pair of maracas, because I adore “real” Mexican food. Therefore, it’s a good thing I live in East Hollywood, where one can find many examples of authentic Mexican food (which is not to say that it’s always good; but it is usually authentic). I usually shun the fako-Mexican places like Acapulco and El Torito (although I must admit that I have a weakness for the corn cakes at El Torito), so when a friend suggested that we eat at Chipotle, I decided to conduct a little research before trying it out.

    What their website had to say impressed me—assuming it wasn’t a tapestry of lies like so many websites on the Internet. They supposedly use only fresh ingredients of the highest quality, are dedicated to excellence, and a lot of other self-congratulatory crap that usually means nothing to me.

    So we tried it today, and I was not grossed-out.


     The chicken was surprisingly tender and juicy, and while not exploding with flavor, it was tasty enough. The beef steak was NOT medium rare as advertized on the website, but it had been sitting in a steamer tray for a while, so I overlooked that discrepancy. The beans were fine—very beany and brown, as one might expect from pinto beans—and the salsa was what I expected: reasonably tasty and not nearly hot enough. The guacamole was a disappointment, as the website promised lime juice in it, and if it was there it was undetectable, but at least it wasn’t brown.


     Best yet, my burrito was a good size—not huge, but certainly a full meal–and cost less than $7, which is a bargain when it tastes that good. My wife asked for water and got something yellow-green that, thankfully, tasted like lemonade rather than the unspeakable fluid that it resembled (apparently, this Chipotle is from the future, where they never drink water but instead drink citrusy beverages that “got ‘lectrolytes!”).


     My only real complaint about this particular Chipotle is the same grievance I have with every restaurant in Westwood: it’s filled with middle-class socialist brat college yuppie know-it-alls who prefer to shout over blaring music rather than have civilized conversations with their friends. Such people—absolutely convinced of their own superior intellect—are among the least intelligent things on the planet, right down there with certain molds and amphibians other than frogs (who are considerably smarter than the average college student) and are therefore annoying to anyone other than like-minded (or lack thereof) fellow college students.

    And yes, I did go to college. And yes, I was a blithering idiot convinced that I was a genius while a college student. No one is immune from this disease, though most of us recover from it when we enter the working world and discover that most of what we had learned in college has no bearing in real life… and that no one who thinks he’s smart is as smart as he thinks he is.

    To find the Chipotle Mexican (sort of) Grill nearest to you, visit their website.

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