With so many San Francisco taquerias, merely bringing up the topic of which is “best” can inspire fierce loyalty — or hatred — from the burrito-snarfing denizens of our pampered metropolis. Yet your taqueria favoritism arises from a dazzlingly complex matrix of macro- and micro- influences—rational and irrational, conscious and unconscious. And the stronger you hold your “best taqueria” convictions, the more blinded you’ll be to your tribalistic motivations. So, to help you see yourself for who you truly are, here’s our guide.
El Farolito
What you think it says about you:
“
I’m so down with the real Mission and real burritos.”
What it really says about you:
It’s 2:30 a.m., and you’re not gonna score, again. All the alphas already paired off, and you’re not even sure if your pic shows up on Tinder anymore cuz the algorithm has pushed you down so far into the heap. You will smother your sexual urges with a forearm-size burrito, leaving barely enough wherewithal to stumble into a Lyft and blackout on your couch.
Little Chihuahua
What you think it says about you:
The quality of the sustainably farmed ingredients makes it worth spending $15 on a burrito.
What it really says about you:
You just bought a $15 ticket to the Coachella of taquerias. You think you look hot, but not in a mainstream way, meaning you are among the easiest demographics to sell to. You believe yourself to be a net positive to the local culture, which you are not.
La Taqueria
What you think it says about you:
Simply the best burrito in SF—and the rest of the civilized world agrees with me.
What it really says about you:
Your choice arises from anything but free will and is in fact one of the purest examples of rational herding we can find in the free market. Or perhaps mass psychosis. La Taqueria is like a Berkeley psychology experiment from the ’60s. It feels rational to say a burrito is better without rice (as if people don’t like rice). You are terrified to go against social norms and admit, “I like rice,” even as your structurally unsound burrito is falling apart in your lap like your equally tenuously constructed world view. In the old days, you would have eaten Chinese food at House of Nanking, but now that your mind is thoroughly gentrified, you probably take all your out-of-town guests to Mission Chinese.
Pancho Villa
What you think it says about you:
Remember that time when Beck showed up and elbowed out the usual troubadour guy and played a solo set? That was amazing.
What it really says about you:
Much like the artist Beck, you found the perfect definition-defying taqueria to fortify your definition-defying model of self. Which feels like a powerful statement of free will until you realize this Pancho Villa-ness you flaunt is likewise a kneejerk rejection to all of those identities you reject.
Taqueria Cancun
What you think it says about you:
The chips are still just as stale as they were when I first walked through these hallowed doors in 1994. And that’s how I like it. I remember when a veggie burrito was $2.96, including tax.
What it really says about you:
You’re stuck. Rent control has become a trap, not the freedom it once was in your 20s. You’re afraid to go back to grad school or get a day job or whatever it is that would make you feel like you’re selling out like the rest of your friends who got married, left SF and bought three-bedroom houses in Temescal right before real estate prices spiked. They have an adorable kid that you read A is for Activist to when Auntie/Uncle You puts them to bed on those rare hangout nights. You can’t bear the shame of “growing up” and doing the same exact thing, 10 years behind them. And you wouldn’t even be able to afford a house in Oakland now anyway, not one that wouldn’t be more expensive than your rent-controlled apartment in SF.
The Window
What you think it says about you:
The only place that has an ojos de pescado burrito!
What it really says about you:
Just like everyone else you look down upon, you construct meaning out of meaningless things, but fool yourself into thinking you’re different/superior because you seek out cognitive concordances and/or discordances that signal in unstated but non-subtle ways that you know more than other people. Which creates the rational fallacy that a burrito is more meaningful when filled with an “authentic” or exotic-signifying ingredient like fish eyes.
Papalote
What you think it says about you:
I don’t mind paying a little more for quality, plus the salsa is sooooo amazing. I can’t believe they sell it at Whole Foods now!
What it really says about you:
You have an addictive personality. You are hooked on whatever drug they lace in the salsa — possibly the same stuff they used to put in Philz Coffee back in the day. You could put that salsa on a piece of three-day-old Dominos Pizza, and you’d still get strung out in a euphoric stupor.
Gracias Madre
What you think it says about you:
I’m a vegan, but even if I wasn’t a vegan, I would totally still eat here because it’s my favorite.
What it really says about you:
No, you wouldn’t. Also, if you weren’t a vegan, you’d have some other fabricated belief architecture—an arbitrary assemblage of meanings and values—around which to structure your behavior.
La Corneta
What you think it says about you:
This place is so clean!
What it really says about you:
You’re someone who makes boring choices.
El Metate
What you think it says about you:
I love the fresh grilled veggies.
What it really says about you:
Forget the purists. Who says you can’t put broccoli and carrots in a burrito? You’re just someone who likes broccoli…and carrots, for that matter! And a burrito is a perfectly reasonable place for broccoli and carrots. Just keep telling yourself that.
