Los Hermanos Burritos

It’s at the other edge of Polk.  Not the substantial portion of Polk Street dedicated to Happy Hour settlers and industrial pilgrims escaping the 9 to 5; it’s the other side of Polk, the periphery.  I wouldn’t have found Los Hermanos Burritos if not for the Yelp review claiming that it was an authentic Mission burrito that was lost on Geary.  If not for the Yelp review, I wouldn’t have ventured near the place.

Down Polk towards Geary, the streets become a gauntlet of homeless.  On every corner, there’s a man yelling mid way through a conversation until one realizes that the other side of that conversation doesn’t exist to the rest of us, and who he’s talking to is hidden somewhere in his own head.  There are people sleeping under blankets of trash. Walking towards is a man who pulls out a tall can of beer and pours it out onto the street as he continues walking.  From the open bars, the scent of heavy tobacco pours out through each entrance.  With the rising cost of rent, it’s a wonder how they continue to stay open.

Los Hermanos Burritos is a taqueria doubled up as a convenient store.  Pushed to one side, away from the aisles of chips and other items of the convenient store variety, is what makes every taqueria a taqueria.  Over the register, there’s one man preparing burritos for dining customers and delivery.  The dining room consists of two tall barstool round tables and several wooden quadrilaterals.  I’m attended to by a sweet Mexican woman who when I ask whether she prefers the carne asada or the carnitas, says she doesn’t eat pork.

Wrapped in a spinach tortilla is one of the most incredible burritos that I’ve had in awhile.  People wonder how anyone could screw up a burrito, thinking that its just a sum of the same practical ingedients.  But, after spending years growing up on Mexican food, the bigger question is how so many people end up getting it wrong.  Los Hermanos Burrito gets it right.  The meat isn’t dry.  The sour cream isn’t runny.  When they promise guacamole, it doesn’t cease to exist.  It’s good place.  An entire taqueria kitchen held together by two people, sharing a space with aisles of prepackaged foods, and another register where behind the counter sells heavy liquor at bargain prices.  

About 7/8ths through my burrito, I rewrap it tin foil and leave.  Outside there are two homeless men loitering.  Instead of walking again up Polk and through the scourge of homeless, I decide to walk up Larkin.  It’s much quieter.



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