Sometimes you're Papalote or La Laguna and you bust loose with a 5-for-6 day at the dish. Or maybe you're La Espiga de Oro or Gordo: You hit a pair out, drive in seven runs, steal three bags, and throw out two fools at the plate from right field. Sometimes, though, you're Giant Burrito and you pop up weakly to short on the first pitch, then sprain your thumb while slamming your bat into the dirt in disgust. Whatever silly baseball diamond-shaped measure of success (or failure) you summon from the bullpen, this brash slabwagon could use another season or two with the Flying Squirrels down at double-A Richmond. Our big, dull loss of a lunch here was thrown out by an underwhelmingly chewy tortilla, a batting helmet full of vaguely sauced rice (that's just too much rice), and a limp-wristed squad of vegetables that somehow left tomato and avocado off the team entirely, all while leaning much too heavily on cilantro's spotty pinch-hitting. The all-melted, but strangely inconsequential cheese also baffled our scouts. The real passed ball here, however, was the boneheaded ingredient mix, which segregated ingredients and caught portion equality leaning too far off first base; a middling lack of overall flavor didn't put too many mustache-runs on the board, either. Giant Burrito's carne asada was capable enough, and our doubleknit-wearing panel tossed out a couple spirited high-tens for ace construction and hot bites. But by the time the concession stands quit selling beer, it was clear that this stubby and chubby widemouth slab ― it kind of looked like an old-time catcher, albeit one wrapped in foil ― possessed zero intangible charm as it ably captured the taste of a 7-2 loss.