It’s been quite a while since I’ve been to any Chipotle; in fact, my last visit was so long ago that it was on a trip to Dallas, and no Chipotle had yet been built in the metro Atlanta area. Today, there are nine locations, and they’re all as sparse as they come, I’m sure.
After seeing that the line to get into Nuevo Laredo was less than bearable, my parents and I decided to check out the Chipotle at Akers Mill. Yes, it’s at the same place where the old El Toro used to be — long live El Toro! The first thing anyone should notice when walking into a Chipotle is the shocking faux post-industrial style of the interior architecture. It’s like walking into an old industrial factory converted into lofts. The concrete floor, painted a dark shade of red, was already cracked despite the newness of the place. The walls, counter, and cubicle-booths were all made of wood and shiny metal. The tables were held up by steel pipes bolted to the floor as though to indicate that Chipotle is not a restaurant: it is a burrito consumption factory. The stark lighting — stark because there were no shades or softening elements of any sort — hung from the ceiling using more steel pipes.
We stood in line. In the time it took to serve one person, we probably could have been seated at Nuevo Laredo. At least this gave us time to read the menu, which sat high on the wall behind the counter. We stood in line and waited for the guy in front of us to make his order. We read the menu several more times. By the time the tortilla handler was ready to take my order, I was able to figure out how I could order something that was not on the menu.
Looking at the menu, I didn’t really want a burrito — I was just not in the mood so much for the flour tortilla. I also didn’t want beans. The menu offered these four choices: burrito, fajita burrito (as the website says, “just like a burrito but with sauteed peppers and onions instead of beans”), burrito bol (a burrito in a bowl, no tortilla), or tacos. After waiting in line for so long that I could find a way to find hidden treasures within the menu, I decided to order a fajita burrito bol. It’s not on the menu, but nobody seemed to mind.
The next step was the realization of what makes Chipotle so unique, in case the architecture didn’t clue you in: your choices are extremely limited. At Moe’s or Willy’s, you can get so many ingredients stuffed into one burrito that Simon Malls would have to surrender their slogan. At Chipotle, the sparseness of the selection is so upsetting for a burrito joint that some burrito joint fans may need therapy after the first visit.
The final step of ordering was payment. The guy at the register was on the phone the entire time, so his listening capacity was limited, as was his ability to pronounce any word that had consonants.
Chipotle is not built for large people. The going assumption — from the moment a customer walks into the door, to the long-lasting moment a customer places an order, to the awkward moment of sitting down at a cushionless booth-cubicle — is a post-industrial minimalist reality. Seriously. If Chipotle were music, it would be what you would get if Nine Inch Nails played a Philip Glass-Yo Yo Ma collaborative train wreck. If Chipotle were architecture, it would be an Eastern European Communist-era modernist piece of crap. The point here is that the booths have no cushions and easily seat one-and-a-half typical Americans on each side. Put it another way, the point for Chipotle is that they want you to eat your damn food and get the hell out.
So we sat down and started eating. Mom had secretly stolen some of the meat from my fajita burrito bol and was already suffering for it. It was quite apparent that this was her ailment because she warned me that the meat was really spicy. Dad had already started to dig into the chips and salsa he got to accompany his burrito, and he pointed out that the salsa was very spicy for a “medium” salsa. After taking a few bites of my meal, which was about the most colorful object in the whole room, I came to the conclusion that everything was spicy, even the lettuce.
In either case (and to be fair), the food was delicious. In fact, the food was Chipotle’s only redeeming value for this evening. The ingredients were clearly fresh, and the flavors penetrated even the spiciest ingredients (including the lettuce). If Chipotle weren’t a post-industrial minimalist-modernist burrito consumption factory, I might actually be willing to walk in for another try.
