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

This mini-football-shaped beast had a legitimate shot at respectability in its earliest stages. Chipotle’s tomatillo red chili salsa was bringing the heat fast and furious, green bell pepper and a multitude of sliced onion were flying high, and most crucially, it seemed as if one of our Chipotle burritos had finally been blessed with a brilliant ingredient mix. But before we knew it, quality control began to backslide uncontrollably, and in time we were left stranded once more in the popular restaurant chain’s desert of creeping mediocrity. Keeping with tradition, our burrito’s lack of cohesion was its own biggest foe, with that damn cilantro-lime rice left high and dry by ill-dispersed salsa. Other disappointments included sub-OK black beans, a steamed and overly shriveled tortilla, and a smattering of Jack cheese microgrates that never really had much to contribute. Even Chipotle’s traditional strength, its undeniably delicious butcher selection, let us down — our steak was too fatty at times, and just kind of punchless overall. As much as we enjoyed our modest guacamole investment at $1.65 extra, the error-prone mix allowed it to create some less than warm bites throughout. All this, and intangibility deficiencies to boot. Perhaps these mix issues wouldn’t be such an albatross around Chipotle’s neck if its dedicated slab-wrappers at the end of the production line weren’t instructed by corporate fiat to squish burritos in a way that renders the roundest shape possible? Just an educated guess.

Swish: size (9); meat (9); beans (9); spiciness (9)
Shrug: cheese (7); vegetables (7); burstage abatement (7); tortilla (6); temperature (6)
Clang: sauciness (5); ingredient mix (5); rice (3)
Intangibility bonus: 1 (of 2)

This burrito’s element ratings were as far-flung as all the little flags on Chipotle’s nationwide location map. Whereas its hefty, hydrant-like dimensions were typical for a Chipotle slab, and the wonderfully char-scarred chicken and smoky beans equally ace, a trio of clangs ensured another sub-seven-mustache trip down our boulevard of rigorous scrutiny. Leading off the parade of egregiousness was all the cilantro-lime rice, which went wholly untouched by the marvelous and spicy tomatillo red-chili salsa. Divisive ingredient mixes such as this have always hamstrung our visits to Chipotle; this oversight never fails to sadden our panel. We appreciated this burrito’s fajita-fied moments of chopped green bell pepper and purple onion, and the blend of jack and white cheddar cheeses was a quiet, melted success. But when you’re forced to deal with a tortilla that’s tougher at times than Rocky Balboa, and all the jarring temperature inconsistencies that often accompany a poorly integrated set of ingredients, it makes for some discombobulating time spent at Chipotle’s windowside dining countertop. And how come they’re so skimpy with the foil?

In the spirit of Chipotle’s penchant for polarizing the taqueria community, we’ve deviated from our typical single-paragraph review format to detail exactly how greatness and disappointment mingled on the same dinner tray one balmy autumn evening.

Ten menacing mustaches for Chipotle’s unassailable barbacoa (shredded beef). Nothing short of exceptional. Couldn’t be tastier.
Nine fearsome mustaches for near-perfect burstage abatement and an all-pro squad of vegetable inclusions – slices of fresh green bell pepper and purple onion, nice pico de gallo, and thickly settled guacamole (spendy at $1.40, but a wise add-on).
Eight solid mustaches for hilariously stumpy dimensions (the foil didn’t even reach all the way around) and creeping spice, courtesy of their tasty tomatillo rojo.
Seven respectable mustaches for bacon-touched, overly pale pinto beans that nevertheless looked and tasted suspiciously refried.
Six hrumphy mustaches for a furiously steamed tortilla that required as much mastication as a fat wad of Big League Chew.
Five increasingly frustrating mustaches for Chipotle’s over-represented, infamous, slightly al dente white/cilantro-lime rice. Same goes for the radical side-to-side temperature shifts. Meat side? All hot. Veggie side? All cool. Rice/beans/etc.? Tepid.
Four flummoxing mustaches for a disastrous ingredient mix that had “TV dinner tray” written all over it.
Three disgraceful mustaches for...mercifully, nothing here earned three mustaches. Although we’d love to ding them for having a tortilla-less burrito on their menu (their ill-named “Burrito Bol”).
Two plain-awful mustaches for the grated cheese we swear we saw them add, but couldn’t for the life of us locate the taste or sight of within the tortilla.
One bonus mustache in the intangibility column, because with meat and veggies like theirs, this burrito wasn’t a complete loss.

Possibly San Francisco’s most fireplug-like burrito, due in no small part to the white, lime-touched rice with which it was stuffed. When red-hot red sauce bled into the rice - swish. When it didn't - clang. Became a spicy guac-fest before too long, overwhelming everything in path, including steak that even cows would enjoy.