Even if this outsized, soft ‘n’ floppy slab sported a belt-hider of a gut once unfoiled, our hard-hearted panel couldn’t resist its champ ingredient mix, game-faced spiciness, and perfectly realized sauce configuration. Most of all, though, it just tasted real good. It’s true that we never got a full sense of the fine-enough chopped pork for all the encroaching chile verde, and that the lamely steamed tortilla was a limp stand-in for a much more durable grilled wrap-device; still, with a little extra care, the burrito’s flopability turned out to be entirely manageable, and the extra-moist Spanish rice gave everything that extra little nudge into the upper reaches of our eight-mustache promised land. Guacamole was strong in all the right ways, Jack cheese was politely melted, and you couldn’t touch this burrito’s intangible deliciousness with an electric hedge trimmer. But why would you want to touch an 8.58-mustache burrito with a hedge trimmer in the first place? What’s your problem? Are you some kind of nut? Or a perv? Get out of here right now before we send for the authorities.

La Michoacana’s Burritoeater debut early in San Francisco's 2009 summer performed so well, we felt compelled to make a rebound visit two months later, just to see. Well, this sophomore foiled zeppelin was again very good, yet clearly a level below its celebrated and quite orange predecessor. Sizable but under the influence of an ordinary, steamed (read: ungrilled) tortilla, this burrito seemed to place a premium on sauciness, so its Charmin-esque softness didn’t surprise anyone on our judges panel; dual salsa action (roja and verde) brought welcome taste and excitement to several bites, however. Other winning elements included: exceptional, chubby grains of Spanish rice; ever-reliable construction; fairly blazing spice; and on an unrelated note, a mighty fine cup of cantaloupe agua fresca on the side. On the other hand, we were let down by the somewhat polarizing mix, which seemed specifically designed at times to prevent ingredient commingling. As for the roast pork, despite being a little too “accented” by chopped green onion — no mean feat, considering our love of most things onion — it held its own amidst the salsa/guac/onion-fest that constituted Return To La Michoacana: The Al Pastor Experience. Intangibility: boom-boom.

Let’s say the tortilla’s grilled instead of briefly steamed. Let’s say its size is a little burlier, a little more robust. Let’s say the grates of cheese get their act together and melt all the way through, rather than only partially. Then we’re looking at a genuine monster of a burrito. Are we out of line for seemingly grumping about an 8.50-mustache lunch from such a fresh face on the San Francisco slab scene? Probably. We were all set to go with one of the fajita burrito options until we walked in and made eye contact with the dull orange hue of the sauce bathing the chicken; intrigue was instant. We made the right call, as the brightly flavorful sauce paired amiably with the equally delicious, shred-friendly poultry. Never mind the mostly harmless drips — spice was perfectly fierce throughout, and the ingredient mix brought everything together with grace and aplomb, especially the uncommonly great, higher-profile-than-usual refried beans. Few things breed civic optimism quite like seeing a new taqueria emerge confidently — taking a sad song, making it better, etc. etc.