El burrito santuario

Ritual at a favorite Mexican food staple

I’ve said this here before, but I’ll say it again: I’ve eaten at El Burrito at least once a week since Obama first took oath in 2009.

The ritual of El Burrito warrants holy writ.

For both weekend and weekday hangovers, and the rare instance of regular, actual hunger—the 16 year-old El Burrito’s sanctuary is open Tuesday through Sunday. Located in a strip mall at Admiral and Pittsburgh, head beneath the banner of a drunken donkey, past the bars on the windows, and enter the chapel of freshly-made chips.

“I feel like before I found El Burrito I was just playing around,” said my friend and fellow Voice contributor, Brady Whisenhunt. “El Burrito is where you go to kneel before the Altar of the Dope Munch. I try to attend services monthly.”

On my most recent visit, I was approached by another regular who spied my legal pad.

“This place has the best food, man,” he said.

I agreed and told him how often I frequent the place.

“Me too, bro!,” he exclaimed.

He works at the cemetery next door, and calls in orders for himself and his co-workers at least three times a week. Tribute like that is typical for those who have eyes to see. His ritual is loading up on chips and drinking a bottled coke while he waits.

Mine involves initiating the profane.

Anytime an out of town band plays the Soundpony, I bring them to Burreat—as the devout call it.

California metal maniacs, Night Demon, bowed down in awe at the size of their wet burritos. Members of St Louis’s psychedelic steamroller, Bug Chaser, had communion with the micheladas. Philly’s Superweaks didn’t know what queso was.

“Did you just order a bowl of cheese to sprinkle on tacos?” Superweaks vocalist, Evan Bernard, asked.

“Dude,” I replied. “Are you messing with me?”

The glory of El Burrito lies in it’s dependency and across-the-menu quality. No matter what you order, it’s great every time. Over the last eight-plus years, I’ve consumed nearly everything on the menu. Even their hamburger deserves your cash and tastebuds’ time.

On weekends there is pozole and menudo. If you’re lucky, there will be homemade jello dessert or flan in the ice box.

Every Tulsa Mexican joint has it’s specialty, and anything involving a puffy corn fritter is top notch at El Burrito. Guaraches, gorditas, sopes—all of them are just a little bit better at Burrito. The choices of meat—all delicious—range from the exoteric, like carne asada and chicken, to the mysterium of lengua and cabesa. The torta ahogada is drenched in an arbol chili sauce. If you’re brave, order it “diabla” style.

But overall, the standout is the caldo de pescado.

When laymen are my company, intiation is my ritual. But in moments of solace and contemplation, I work through the stations of the fish soup.

A massive red brew of carrots, onions, cilantro, zucchini, and several tilapia filets, the caldo de pescado is is served with the onions and cilantro on the side, and flour or corn tortillas. (Unless you’re a dummy, you’ll pick corn.)

I begin by unpacking the tortillas from their foil and flopping one back and forth between my hands until it reaches an edible temperature. I blow the hot air off the top of the soup and allow it to cool. On some days I’ll scoop ice into it from my water cup.¹ Once the soup is safe, I load a mixture of tilapia and veggies onto a tortilla for the best fish tacos in town.

The ritual is complete when a random norteño song blasts at full volume from the jukebox. “Fruta Prohiba” is a sign of true blessing.

You can finish the soup by drinking the broth, but I take it home in a styrofoam cup to boil filets in later, a crude facsimile of Burreat’s holy relic. A kind of velvet Jesus soup.

I’ve found it’s easier to discuss politics than Mexican restaurants in Tulsa. People love Rio Verde, but I’ve always waved my El Burrito flag in the face of the green river, Cancun, Calaveras, and others.²

So I felt bad when co-owner Veronica Jiminez told me she met her husband (and business partner), Oscar, when both worked at Rio Verde. They still frequent the place and say it’s common to see Rio Verde employees enjoying El Burrito on their own sabbaths.

1) I still have scars on my left hand from one of my first encounters with El Burrito’s fish soup. Make sure the soup is cool enough, or at least make sure your tortilla is without holes before you dive in.

2) Don’t get it twisted. Pollos Asados al Carbon, behind the Beehive Lounge, is the spot for tacos from midtown to downtown.