Everyone wants a one pound burrito apparently, and Chipotle has the stats to prove it. Today the Denver based chain opened its 1000th store.

I was there on opening day of New York’s first Chipotle, and let me tell you it was a momentous occasion (especially for the couple of Coloradans with whom I was dining.)

And in good news for those on the other side of the pond, according to a source I spoke with this morning, Chipotle’s next stop may be Deutschland, giving this Facebook group what it’s been gagging for.

The queue is apparently often scores of people deep, but since we didn’t get there for lunch until about 4, we didn’t have to wait too long before placing our order at the counter, which is particularly fun because you get up close to watch the kitchen folks making handmade corn tortillas.

For such a wee place, there were loads of options, and it was difficult to make a decision, but I’d heard that when at Super Rica, be sure to eat loads of tortillas and go for the special tamales, so I did as told.

A deceptively simple taco de bistec — perfectly grilled meat on one of those impeccable fresh tasting tortillas. (Really it’s two tortillas, but when splitting one taco between two people, the Mr. and I each take a tortilla and half the filling and it works out just fine. Blasphemous perhaps. But just fine.)

Guacamole. Believe it or not, there are two tortillas lurking under that mountain of avocado. What initially seemed like an excess of guac quickly became a dearth of the glorious green stuff. Especially with a drizzle of one of the three complimentary salsas. Especially when scooped onto the taco de bistec.

One of the specials — a tamal de verduras. (Though I get the sense this “special” is often on the menu.) Fresh masa stuffed with chayote, corn, zucchini, potato, chili strips, and cheese. Topped with a crema sauce. This was kind of the fettuccine al fredo of the tamale world. Decadent. Comforting.

And finally my first favorite. The itty bitty tamalito de cambray.  A pint-sized tamale fit for a pint-sized taco joint, stuffed with chicken, raisins, almonds, and tomato sauce, packed into a banana leaf. Moist, a little sweet, a little savory. A little corny. I literally licked the banana leaf clean of all traces of this one.

Thanks Julia! Thanks Super Rica!

In his urban peregrinations, Mr. Henry regularly attempts to locate an Oren’s Daily Roast which, he maintains, has the best beans in town for an infusion method (french press) cup of coffee. Failing that, he buys wherever he finds something that looks reasonably roasted.

However, he never ever buys coffee at Zabar’s. You see – and it pains him to criticize a store so conveniently located and offering such good breads, cheeses, and smoked fish – Zabar’s burns the beans. They over-roast them until the coffee, no matter which variety, uniformly lacks the subtler aromas, becoming bitter ash. In this regard, Zabar’s resembles Starbucks and a host of other celebrated purveyors of coffee.

But then Starbucks is essentially a franchise for steamed milk. The coffee is secondary. If proof were needed for this, when coffee prices suddenly doubled some years ago, Starbuck’s did not raise their prices one whit. The cost of the coffee in a single espresso is eleven cents – and that is the cost after the roaster has imposed a quintuple mark-up.

Truth be told, Zabar’s has always been an establishment more concerned with price than with quality. This not meant to be a derogatory statement. They understand their market. As many failed restauranteurs have learned, Upper West Siders won’t pay.

At that very moment beside the coffee bags appeared a willowy blue-eyed Mexican boy straight out of “Y Tu Mama Tambien” who offered me a free sample of Jalima brand coffee from Mexico.

In a whisper I complained to him that I never buy coffee here because it is over-roasted. He nodded in conspiratorial assent and suggested I try Jalima H & A Gourmet bean grown in Veracruz. Medium ground and vacuum packed, the Gourmet is a marvelously rich brew with hints of citrus and chocolate, delicate and refined, perfect for the french press.

Manolo says, Guacamole!

As one would imagine the Manolo he is not immune to the tropical charms of the finely-crafted guacamole. Indeed, it can be among the greatest of the appetizers, if done well.

Avocados, lime juice, the finely-diced red onion, chopped cilantro, the salt and the pepper, and perhaps as the Manolo has done here above, the little chopped tomato. So simple.

Of the course, the secret it is entirely in the quality of the avocados. Bad avocados, bad guacamole. Good avocados, good guacamole.

The Manolo, he is happy to report that the avacodos for this particular guacamole they were fine. Yes, fine, but not superior. For that one must be close to the source, perhaps in the charming town of the Carpinteria, where the living it is easy, and the heavily-laden trees offer up fruit to whomsoever can reach up from the sidewalk and pluck them from the branchs.

Oddly for the Manolo, however, the single best guacamole he has ever consumed it was in most unlikely of places: downtown Tucamcari, in the New Mexico, at the tiny, unassuming mom-and-the-pop restaurant called the El Toro Cafe. The dish it was the “guacamole salad”, presumably because it came with the chopped iceberg lettuce. It was and remains perfectly memorable, with the sort of vegetable-fatty richness and flavor that the Manolo has never again experienced.

The Manolo says, if you are perhaps stranded in the Tucumcari (and who has not, at some point, been stranded in the Tucumcari?) then you must visit the El Toro. He suspects that the guacamole could never again possibly be as good as it was that one time (nothing is ever as good the second time), but the traditional New Mexican food was good enough to justify the visit to this unprepossessing place.