Burrito Trail
There are days when you’re walking down 23rd Street, the food truck lights are calling like promises you know you shouldn’t believe. Parked right there on the property of the Joshua Church of God in Christ-like salvation and sustenance, decided to set up shop together. You think maybe this time it’ll be different, maybe this time the 23rd Street Burrito will deliver on its promises.
Especially when it comes recommended by a vegetarian, which should have been the first red flag, but sometimes you ignore the obvious signs because you want to believe in something.
It was cold and foggy, you know, summer, so there were no kids from Richmond High lined up for the nacho fries. The truck was all red-shiny and aspiration, looking like it belonged somewhere else, trying too hard to be something it wasn’t.
We ordered the Al Pastor Super Burrito because the name sounded like it might have stories to tell. Seventeen dollars and forty-seven cents. SEVENTEEN DOLLARS AND FORTY-SEVEN CENTS. For a burrito. That’s the kind of money that makes you question whether you’re getting older or just getting poorer.
The first bite was rice and hope, and then it went sideways, but not in a bad way. There were fatty bits of pork swimming around, and look, we’re not gonna lie; they weren’t our favorite.
These weren’t the kind of fatty bits that tell you stories about slow cooking and patient hands. These were the kind that made you wonder if maybe next time you should order something else. And suddenly, it all made sense why a vegetarian thought this place was good. They probably never tried the meat.
And then the avocado chunks. Now, the avocado chunks were a choice. Not flavorful, perfectly seasoned guacamole like other places do, but whole geological formations of avocado, big green rocks that caught you by surprise, like finding something unexpected in a place you thought you understood. You’d bite down expecting creamy consistency and instead get this chunky surprise that made you wonder if someone in that shiny truck was trying something different or if they were winging it. It wasn’t bad, just different.
The salsas were actually pretty good. The beans were solid. The rice was there doing its job, like people who show up on time and contribute something meaningful to the conversation. For $17.47, you want more than fine, and honestly, this was more than fine.
What you get is a burrito that’s better than most, even if it has some quirks you weren’t expecting. Its 685 grams filled us up in a way that felt earned, not just because of the price tag but because someone actually put thought into most of it. The fatty bits aside. Sometimes authenticity comes from places that are trying hard and mostly succeeding, even if they don’t get every detail right.
Grandma’s Kitchen wants to be the food truck that gives you something worth talking about, and mostly it succeeds. It’s not life-changing, but it’s solid, and maybe that’s enough for most of us, even if some parts don’t land exactly right.
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