For reasons having to do more with nostalgia than hunger I ate a burrito Friday afternoon at 4:30 p.m. I’d been on campus since 10 a.m. and wasn’t going to leave at least until 8 p.m. By 4 p.m., I was restless, tired and loopy. A burrito was just the thing to make everything better.
Even though I’m married to a chef, who at one point worked at an upscale Mexican restaurant, I love Chipotle. And I love-love their veggie burrito with rice, black beans, pico de gallo, sour cream, guacamole and lettuce. The contrasting textures of the soft tortilla, the smooth sour cream, the crunchy lettuce and chunky pico de gallo along with the salty beans contribute to an experience that actually makes me homesick.
One thing you should know about me is that I’m chronically homesick. For the past decade I’ve bounced around dozens of places, each time moving farther away from South Florida. But I’ve always missed it. And something they don’t tell you when you embark on “adulthood” is that your homesickness can grow ever year rather than diminish.
Many things trigger my homesickness — Snooki walking around South Beach on “The Jersey Shore,” seeing a UM Hurricanes decal on a car, hearing music that sounds remotely beachy, the sun, the taste of salt, etc. And Chiptole’s burritos.
When I moved back home for a minute a few years ago (something else they don’t tell you may happen) I ate at Chipotle at least once a week. And even though I usually ate by myself, I was always on my way to somewhere great and interesting — to hang out with high school friends, to visit my niece and nephew, to the beach, etc. And Friday, after my burrito, I studied and went to a meeting. But this soon will pass. And in the meantime the Chipotle outpost on the Drag will keep me steady.