Swish: temperature (10); burstage abatement (10); spiciness (9); size (8); ingredient mix (8)
Shrug: tortilla (7); meat (7); beans (7); sauciness (7); rice (6); cheese (6); vegetables (6)
Clang: no elements clanged
Intangibility bonus: 1 (of 2)

The bites were all hot, the construction was bullet-proof, and the spice was more than up to the task. By the same token, the rice grains were undersized and on the mushy side, the vegetable content was thin, and the microgrates of cheese were too often merely semi-melted. Clearly, El Cachanilla had no interest in getting ahead, instead content to dance the 7.67-mustache shuffle. Other than bunched-up pico de gallo, the ingredient mix was solid, and the hunky slab was sized to please. As for the slow-cooked barbacoa, it was pull apart-friendly in a stewed beef sort of way, but its flavor certainly could have done with more punch. A modest pile of whole pinto beans nailed its sheer adequacy role, and middling intangibility sealed the whole shrug-worthy deal. At least nobody in El Cachanilla’s kitchen had the guile to slip part of a cornea into our burrito.

Swish: size (10); beans (9); temperature (9); burstage abatement (9); meat (8); rice (8); cheese (8); spiciness (8)
Shrug: tortilla (7); ingredient mix (7); vegetables (6)
Clang: sauciness (5)
Intangibility bonus: 1 (of 2)

24 bites. That’s a whole lot of bites, people. Even the briefly grilled tortilla looked exhausted by its dying moments. But despite this mammoth slab’s 10-mustache performance on the size front, it’s likely we’ll remember a couple other things about it: piles of cilantro (about a cubic foot of it), and ill-dispersed red chile bean paste that had us thinking “kim chi” more than “burrito.” The inclusion of the Korean-reminiscent “sauce” was the nuttiest taqueria interpretation of “extra spicy” to date, and it proved an insurmountable obstacle on certain bites – there was just too much of it to either brush aside or ignore. After the first two bites were tortured by unmelted jack grates, unwanted drips of sauce/grease, and unhot temperatures, things fortunately calmed down and heated up. Chunks of chicken were smartly salted and delicious, and the small-grain rice and exceptional refried beans laid down a terrific foundation. Cheese was entirely melted after its misintroduction, and other than the poor distribution of that damn chile paste (which seeped through the tortilla here and there), we had minimal gripes with the ingredient mix. A good burrito dragged down by weirdness.

Argh. This one bummed us out, given the kudos we’ve always bestowed upon the Mission’s little burrito window that (once?) could. That may be a bit harsh – we haven’t given up on El Cachanilla just yet – but this burrito’s severe heat shortage, positively tame spice quotient, and flat-out awful mix combined to land a staggering blow to the little joint’s reputation. It all started with a dusky-looking, lightly grilled tortilla that somehow ended up too chewy, while the al pastor disappointed in its lead role as a wickedly rich, over-smoked centerpiece. Just as the pork was decidedly off, the refried beans had also seen better days by harboring a sadly haggard taste; at least the Spanish rice got it right. Where this burrito really flew off the rails, however, was in its internally quad-sectioned subdivision: rice vs. beans vs. meat vs. the rest. Little, if any interplay here - clearly, some moneybags San Jose residential developers got ahold of this slab and cul-de-sac’d it straight to hell. Given the lousy mix, the shredded jack disobeyed melting orders and joined forces with the otherwise nice veggie components to stage one hell of a temperature coup, the likes of which we hopefully never again see at 21st and Treat.

This excellent burrito commanded much respect. Its voluminous spice and dimensions, wonderfully marinated steak, and top ensemble work outshined the 40-pound bag of rice with which it shared the superbly grilled tortilla. Who knew such a tiny place could beget such gargantuan work?