To my dearest burrito:
I remember the first time we met. It was a late Saturday morning. My boyfriend and I were venturing downtown for brunch. I was hungry and needed something more substantial than a donut but more savory than a pancake. Then I saw you, and I had to have you. For less than $10, you could be mine.
So I asked the waitress about you, and she said you weren’t bad. “Sausage or bacon?” she asked.
“Bacon, please,” I replied with a smile, and then waited patiently for you to arrive upon my table.
Sipping my coffee, I saw her emerge from the kitchen with you perched upon a tray. She laid you on the table in front of me, and my eyes grew large.
I was in awe of your steaming gravy, covering every nook and cranny of your soft tortilla. I cut you open and a mound of perfectly scrambled eggs emerged, covered in cheese, with roasted potatoes nestled in between and crisp bacon peeking out at me. My heart melted, not unlike your cheesy insides.
With each bite you became better and better, until I found the apex of my breakfast experience: one bright orange bite-sized chunk of sweet potato that obviously snuck in with its white counterparts, sweet and herby, contrasting wonderfully with the spiciness of the chipotle gravy you hid beneath.
When you became too much for me to finish in one sitting, I tucked you safely into a cardboard to-go container and held you tightly during the ride home, making sure you did not become too disheveled before I finished you. You fit nicely in your new home between some leftover pizza and a carton of soy milk.
The next morning I awoke with a grumbling in my tummy, and I knew you would be the only thing to satisfy my hunger. You emerged from the chilly cave of my refrigerator, and I placed you in the microwave while I stirred my morning coffee. When the microwave’s humming ceased, I knew it was time. I put you on a plate and stared lovingly, hoping with all my might that you would be as delicious as the day before.
Knowing I would not see you again for some time, I savored each individual bite as much as I could. When I finally reached the end, I shed a single lonely tear and watched as it fell onto my plate with the last of your gooey remnants.
I still think about you when my stomach grumbles, but none can compare. Neither cereal nor waffle can satisfy my craving. No omelet can hold a candle to your tasty presence. Now that I’ve tasted you, breakfast will never be the same. I hope we can meet again soon, possibly next weekend, or maybe I’ll skip class tomorrow and surprise you with a visit. Until then, I can only dream of devouring you once more. But I can promise you that I will soon return and we will be reunited once more.
Disclaimer: I am not sponsored or being paid in any way by Cafe Berlin. But I am open to it.
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