Three months into my European Odyssey I can honestly say that I miss very few things about the good ol’ U.S.A. However, the things that I do miss are enough to have me making a 50-foot long paper chain counting down to the day I return (which is June 20th by the way). Among the few things I miss, one thing that sticks out as much as “friends and family” is CHIPOTLE. For those of you who don’t know, I have what many would consider “a clinical addiction” to Chipotle. I work at Chipotle, and I love the food. I eat Chipotle for lunch, I eat it for dinner, I eat it for snack, and I eat leftovers for breakfast. Basically I eat it whenever I can. In the last 3 years as an employee of Chipotle, I have managed to eat the food for approximately 8 meals a week (not including the times I snack at work) which amounts to approximately 1,250 burritos. Consequently, I am having some issues over here in Spain where the closest to Chipotle you can come is Europe’s first Taco Bell (I just threw up a little in my mouth thinking that that could even be a comparison). Imagine taking a person who smokes 8 packs of cigarettes a day, throwing them into a white, padded cell, and forcing them to go without cigarettes for 3 months… that’s about half of the misery I’m experiencing.
Lets take a look at the various phases of my life without Chipotle (and foods that are remotely similar to Chipotle).
Phase 1) Denial. For the first 2 weeks I was here I was in denial of the fact that I wasn’t going to be enjoying Chipotle for 5 months. I would scoff at people when they asked if I missed Chipotle (they all know that I work there because I sport my jacket with pride EVERYWHERE I go.). My typical response would be: “we’re in Spain, I’m sure that I’ll be enjoying plenty of good food that isn’t Chipotle”. Basically, I ignored the fact that I wouldn’t be sinking my teeth into that tasty 6-dollar (or free) steak burrito for another 5 months.
Phase 2) Irrationalism. At the week 2 point, the cold shakes began. I couldn’t function without a burrito. I found myself sitting in the corner of my room without the lights on rocking back and forth and hallucinating that I was on the way to eat Chipotle. Every time I thought about Chipotle I laughed maniacally, I cried uncontrollably, I foamed at the mouth like a rabies-infected dog, and then I ended up on the floor chewing on my own hand imagining that it was a chicken burrito with hot salsa, fajitas, and all of that good stuff. These unhealthy reactions to the lack of Chipotle led me to some irrational thoughts. The first thing that came to my mind was “Chipotle in London”. I had heard from a good source that Chipotle would soon be spreading its wings and flying across the Atlantic to open a restaurant in London. Upon hearing this, I tapped every Chipotle resource I had, planned my trip to London (immediately), and was eager to make the 300-dollar journey just for a burrito. This dream was immediately crushed when I heard from one of my sources that the Chipotle in London wouldn’t open until well after my return to the States. Oh well, I guess $300 is too much to pay for a burrito (although I don’t really believe this).
The second part of my irrationalism came in my willingness to pay over $50 to have 1 single, succulent, cilantro-lime-rice-stuffed burrito sent via overnight shipping to me. I checked the UPS prices, the importing food regulations, etc. and was ready to go. But, something just wouldn’t let me pull the trigger. I, for some reason, was unable to pay $50 dollars for something that I usually got for free. So I went into hiding. I pushed Chipotle as far out of my mind as I possibly could. I told myself it was like Lent… the fact of that matter is, it is like Lent. A horrible, never ending Lent. For those of you who have seen the movie “Groundhog Day”, that is what I’m going through. Every day I wake up with the hope that everything will be better. I expect to wake to the haunting aroma of adobo-marinated steak being cooked on the grill to a delicious medium rare. But nothing ever changes. I wake up every day, disappointed, in this permanent inferno of a Chipotle-less world.
Phase 3) Unnecessary pushiness. So far I have had two people visit me in Spain. My father was the first to come. I was so excited for him to arrive. He was going to bring a little “taste” of the homeland over here to the Iberian Peninsula. For dad, I compiled a large list of things that I wanted. This list included books, headphones, etc. But, at the top of the list, in a world of its own, was Chipotle. My Chipotle fever was at an all-time high. It had been 2 months. Enough was enough. As with London and UPS, I had it perfectly planned. He would make the pick-up on the way to the airport. He would get a bol, no cheese, no sour cream. This would mean that A) there would be no tortilla to get soggy and B) no dairy products to go rotten. I felt that cooked meat could last 16 hours. And, if it didn’t I would’ve been willing to eat it anyway. Yes, I would’ve vomited my guts out just to taste the food that God created for me. I outlined the master plan for dad. I gave him the details, my order, etc. He said he would “see what he could do”.
The entire week I eagerly awaited the arrival of dad. Not only because I wanted to see him, but also (as sick as it is) I had the hope that he would come bearing gifts. I stayed up the entire night before he arrived, praying to God that my food would arrive (and dad) safely tomorrow.
When I approached dad at the airport I was like the love-struck girl awaiting her boyfriend who was coming back from a 3-year tour in Europe during World War II. I have never been so excited in my entire life. However, when I saw him my eyes immediately fell to the empty left hand attached to his body. No brown paper bag (made of post consumer material, great), no bol, no happiness. When he did not come bearing that one gift, I was crushed. My heart felt as though it had been ripped right out of my chest. I immediately wanted to grab a copy of The Stranger and read all about existentialism, thinking, “if I can’t get a Chipotle burrito, then there truly is no God”.
Phase 4) Substitutes. I rarely eat Tobasco sauce when I eat my Chipotle. I prefer to get my spice from the red tomatillo chili, the green tomatillo chili, the roasted chili corn salsa, the fresh tomato salsa, and often whatever I have invented in the kitchen on that particular day. However, one day at the grocery store I was browsing the aisles when my eyes where drawn to one particular red bottle. It was glowing, practically calling me. Imagine the burning bush scene from the Bible. This bottle of Tobasco sauce was the Chipotle gods’ way of speaking to me. I snatched the bottle off of the shelf, threw the 7 euros it costed (totally worth it) at the cashier, and ran. I ran all the way home like Charlie when he found his Golden Ticket. I honestly think that my feet touched the ground twice on the 3-block journey back to my apartment.
At first I was reasonable with my Tobasco sauce. I cherished this little piece of Chipotle. I made quesadillas out of a “French mix” of cheese (whatever that means) and the crappy version of tortillas that Spain has. I used my Tobasco sauce exclusively on that and tortilla chips. I truly felt that I was at Chipotle. As time progressed, I couldn’t get enough. I started putting my Tobasco sauce on other things (still normal) like eggs. But, as time passed I once again became fueled with the craziness that Chipotle has the power of creating. I started putting Tobasco sauce on everything in an attempt to create that familiar burn of spiciness in my mouth at all times. Some people say they eat a lot of Tobasco sauce. “I put in on pizza” or “I eat it with soup” are common statements. I think I have those people beat. Tobasco sauce goes on everything I eat. For example, tonight (while I wrote this blog) I ate tuna casserole, a fresh baguette, and salad for dinner. Every single one of these dishes was completely drowned in Tobasco sauce. I eat Tobasco sauce on potatoes, on bread, on veggies, hell I even eat it on my cereal. You think you like Tobasco sauce? Think again. I go through about 3 seven-dollar bottles a week, all to get my Chipotle fix.
While Tobasco sauce can suffice for now, I do know that one of these days it won’t be enough. My paper chain is at 60 days. 60 days until Chipotle. Steak burrtio… chips… salsa…60 days until I get to sink my teeth into that meaty roll of deliciousness that is so successful in transporting me to my happy place.
Please, if you have any hint of kindness in your soul, send help. Send help in the form of a Steak bol extra Chicken. With extra cilantro-lime rice, sautéed green bell peppers and red onions perfectly cooked, vegetarian black beans, all 4 delicious salsas (extra of each), and perfectly cut romaine lettuce. Anything can help. God bless.
February 17, 2010 at 8:35 pm |
You know how to make the rice mixture, you know how to cook the steak. You know what seasonings go on the meat and how long you cook it for. MAKE CHIPOLTE. Do it. Make all your friends around you want it as much as you do, to the point of them following you back to the states to get a taste of the real thing.