by Charles Hoey and Claudia Allwood

How do you hold a yardstick up to perfect harmony? What empirical unit of measure can gauge the epicness of texture, spice, flavor combined into a handheld treasure trove of savory delight? The balance between these traits is delicate and flawless: the slightest excess in any direction would send this deck of flavor cards crashing down. Riding with your jib hauled this close to the flavor-wind requires courage. It requires wisdom. Perhaps most of all, it clearly requires experience.

Enter Señor Sisig: the only food truck that has made us want to change our ethnicity. Sweet food truck, we would learn Tagalog for you.

The problem with food, that you don’t get with most other fine arts, is that to truly appreciate a culinary masterpiece requires you to shove it into your mouth and destroy it. Not so with the Mona Lisa or Macbeth. For food, there is no greater way to express love than by savoring it and digesting it wholly. How cruel the universe can be. How arbirarily brutal, to make us decimate something so perfect. But surely, to leave such a work of art unappreciated would be far worse. It would have wanted to perish in battle. That much is clear.

The portability, savory perfection, and built-in texture were a mouthgasmic, epicarnal trifecta. We were brought to our knees by the embedded french fries and little morsels of meat, tenderly wrapped in a tortilla, spread evenly throughout. Not soggy, not ugly. Only as crispy as you wanted it to be. A terrarium of flavors in perfect symbiosis.

In ancient Japan, temple architects would always place a single column upside down. It was believed that only God was allowed to create perfection. Clearly this tradition carries over into the Philippines as well. The only distinguishable flaw we could find is that this burrito had to end.

The Señor Sisig California burrito will take any other burrito down in a street fight. This burrito. I say goddamn. Have mercy on us, sweet Sisig.