The Tiny Dog’s breakfast slab stayed the eight-mustache course, ratcheting up no perfect element ratings along the way, but smartly averting any major clangs by the same token. Its Achilles heel — a smattering of sauce drips that increased to a steady trickle by the time we reached the increasingly soppy hind end — was the only unfortunate turn taken by this otherwise fine, if not quite championship-caliber burrito. Spice was totally on the mark from the get-go, bold without overwhelming everything around it. The scrambled eggs were on their fluffy game, the melted jack performed well enough, and all those chunky potatoes sure did fit the bill. The ingredient mix was capable, but well short of outstanding in the way it forced the lion’s share of refried beans to the tortilla’s top half. (Early bites: real heavy on the beans.) Plenteous cuts of spicy sausage admirably provided meaty counterpoint to all the vegetable/legume/dairy/grain madness going on. And even though the tortilla was gently grilled, it fell prey to overmoisture at the end. Intangible cred was never in doubt, nor was a return trip to the napkin dispenser to combat all the saucy drips.

To tell you the truth, we didn’t think it was possible. Our grizzled judges panel figured no taqueria in town was capable of besting Taq. San Francisco’s record 9.38-mustache colossus, but the Little Chihuahua proved us all silly with this cylindrical foodpièce de résistance. And it really was kind of cylindrical, with the top end so classily tapered like that. Early bites revealed immediate grace/force: a shrewdly grilled tortilla; business-meaning spice; pillowy walls of perfectly melted Jack cheese; hot bites from here to eternity; pretty much the works. Beyond all these ten-mustache-earning elements, this burrito’s true X-factor was its fajitafication, which took this whole dog-and-pony-show-in-foil to another level entirely. Green bell pepper and long-chopped onion led the charge, and hey man, dig all that micro-diced garlic swimming around in there. We adore the guacamole and the avocado as much as any other big-hearted Californian, but with all the other hot veggie action occurring here, we barely missed it this time. Ten mustaches for vegetables, done. Now a few words about the ingredient mix: pretty much unassailable. No element was bunched, no element was sequestered, no element was ignored. This is starting to get ridiculous, we know. Perhaps you’re wondering what we thought of the Tiny Dog’s grilled chicken? Well, we certainly enjoyed it, but with the roasted tomato salsa and roasted vegetables ruling the roast*, the chicken never really got its moment in the sun; these things happen. Same went for the Mexican rice in its traditional supporting role — although its foundational counterpart, these mighty rad refried beans you see here, managed to step out of the shadows enough to earn nine mustaches. Have we missed anything? Ah, those little cleaves in the tortilla were no big thing...we still only needed one napkin. Nicely sized and heaped with the right kind of intangibility, this wonderslab deserved every bit of glory it earned. All hail the Tiny Dog. Arfarfarfarfarf.

* Really sorry about this.

On its second pass through our silly mustache mill, the Little Chihuahua kitchen produced a truly cylindrical slab; far more crucially, it was a truly bitchin’ slab. Sole flaws here included stunted length, overly tame spice that didn't quite heed our call for pepper-flame, and an ingredient mix that stopped just short of bringing everything onboard harmoniously. Enough griping already. Prodigious amounts of diced onion made us real happy, as did the lime-infused (right? lime?) guacamole and totally-on-the-money steak, perfectly cooked at medium well and yet still delectably juicy. And the tortilla!: grilled to flakiness, just as they all ought to be. The refried beans and fully melted cheese each outstood to the catchy tune of nine mustaches, while this burrito’s intangible credibility was never in question. We said it: bitchin’.

We passed on the Little Chihuahua’s in-burrito offer of, eh, cabbage, and this burrito’s OMR emerged the other side all the better. Other than woefully wee length, which resulted in the only element rating to land under our seven-mustache bar of respectability, everything here was pretty much on-point. Spice was wicked fierce, all bites boasted a hot temperature, and most impressively, Mister Slabmakin’ Fella back of the counter kicked down one hell of an ingredient mix. The grilled chicken was tasty and hinted at lemony undertones, while the atypically fragrant beans pleased our panel. Through it all, the melted cheese contributed subtly...real subtly...and while we’d heard rumors of grilled tortillas here, ours showed up steamed and ordinary. But the tomato/onion-rich pico de gallo ruled the school, and the salsa verde wasn’t far behind. Short of the burrito’s shortness, a stirring debut.