Good grief. It’s a bad sign when we have to essentially wring out a burrito, and it’s a real bad sign when the number of napkins used equals the number of bites taken. How could a taqueria operating under the proud El Castillito name allow such a sogfest to occur? What the hell happened to the purportedly adhesive refried beans? Could the tortilla have been any more of a sieve? Would it have been too much trouble to drain the stewed beef before dumping its payload into our slab? The fact that the beef itself was quite tasty was practically the only thing this travesty of a meal had in its corner, for it seemed as if all the usual Castillito cornerstones – melted cheese, ace vegetables, ferocious spice, an impenetrably grilled tortilla – were on leave. A shameful abomination. We left disgusted.

Delivering a slab that boasted massive heft and the sort of rad grilled tortilla / melted jack / sliced avocado action we’ve come to expect from El Castillito, this Little Castle debuted with a porky flourish. The pastor centerpiece was sauced to the nines, and while its moderate grease prevented a perfect sauciness rating, nobody on our judges panel was about to grouse about it – not when the meat was this subtly charred and infused with bits of grilled onion. The rich pico de gallo brought lashings of tang to the event, and the rest of the vegetable contingent was equally on its game. Shortcomings included surprisingly tame spice and an ingredient mix that separated too many of the hot elements from their less hot brethren, thus creating minor side-to-side temperature deficiencies. The Spanish rice enjoyed the saucy bath as much as the marvelous pork did, and the flagrantly fragrant tortilla cradled it all with grace and aplomb. We dream of a day when San Francisco is home to more El Castillitos than Starbucks.