In this blog series I take an unbiased, scientific approach to the age-old question:
What is the best burrito in Naperville?

Before I begin, it’s important I lay down some ground rules to ensure that every restaurant gets a fair chance. The first rule is no national chain restaurants. That means no chipotle, no qdoba, and no taco bell. I’m looking to find the best burrito native to Naperville – local chains like Burrito Parilla Mexicana, or this week’s entry, Los Burritos Tapatios, are safe. The second important rule: my order will stay consistent from restaurant to restaurant. I will be evaluating the quality of each establishment’s Asada Burrito, exactly as it comes, adding only sour cream if it is not included.  And before I get any comments about authenticity – if I wanted to review authentic Mexican food I wouldn’t be ordering a burrito, and I certainly wouldn’t be doing it in Naperville.

With the ground rules set, there was only one logical choice for my first review. It is a perennial favorite, one that transcends the boundaries of age and status. It is a late-night haven for the tired, the hardworking, and most often, the heavily inebriated. But questions remain – Does it taste as good at 6pm as it does at 2am? Is it more than just a budget meal for broke high-school and college students alike? And most importantly, does it deserve to be Naperville’s favorite burrito?

While I couldn’t get the full “Taps” dine-in experience due to new covid-19 regulations, I was able to call in and pick up the standard order – an asada burrito, add sour cream. The order came out to $7.52 with tax, and weighed in at a whopping 1.2 pounds. On our Burrito Budget Index (BBI), that comes out to 2.57oz/$. In terms of sheer value, “Taps” sets a benchmark that will be difficult to beat in coming weeks.

What’s even more impressive is the composition of this burrito. Weighing 1.2 pounds, one would expect upon opening up the cross-section to find a heaping portion of rice and beans – but to my surprise, the burrito was majority steak. Most exciting to me was the lack of rice. To me, rice in a burrito is a cop-out, a flavorless add-on used to compensate for a lack of more valuable ingredients. It compromises the structure of a burrito, overwhelming it’s composition and spilling out after just a few bites. This is of course, a matter of personal preference, and as such I will not allow it to impact my review.

The real star of this burrito is the steak. It tastes like it came fresh off the grill, and that’s because it did – the counter at “Taps” offers customers with a direct view of the cooking process. The steak is perfectly cooked, just slightly smoky, and perfectly charred to give it a complex, slightly bitter bite. Whatever marinade they used was just enough to make the steak perfectly tender, without adding an overwhelming amount of flavor. I mean this by no means a knock on the flavor, rather a compliment, as it allows the flavor of the meat to shine through. This paired especially well with the beans, which were applied sparingly, and are noticeable only as a compliment to the steak.

While the steak is exceptional, the burrito does falter in other areas. The tomatoes were chopped large, leading to textural inconsistency throughout, and were a little too watery. It was pretty clear that these and the lettuce were not at their freshest, but it didn’t ruin the burrito. The only other negative I found was the wrap of the burrito. It appears that the tortilla used was too large for the burrito, and in order to compensate, it was bunched up in the rolling process. This left large pockets of plain tortilla with nothing else, which was jarring at times.

Overall, this burrito stood up to my high expectations, and will be tough to beat moving forward. It is exceptionally budget-friendly, but does not skimp on quality, and certainly deserves to be a Naperville favorite. Of course, you’ll have to come back next week to find out if it truly is the Best Burrito in Naperville.

Nancy Lee believes in America as a land of opportunity, in which anyone can achieve what they set their minds to, with liberty and justice for all. And why shouldn’t she? After all, Nancy Lee is well-respected and liked by all of her classmates, an excellent athlete and artist. She has always identified with her African heritage, but has never been defined by it in the eyes of others. That is, until she submits her precious watercolor into an art scholarship and is denied by the virtue of her skin color. In his 1952 work “One Friday Morning”, Langston Hughes paints a brutally realistic, yet equally hopeful, picture of growing up black in the United States.

Hughes himself understands the difficulties of reconciling other’s hatred with his own belief in the american dream. Growing up in Joplin, Missouri, he faced racism from his own community in day to day life. He eventually moved to New York, where he became a leader of the Harlem Renaissance, redefining what it meant to be black in America through his works of poetry, writing, and social activism.

While this work is, of course, about racism, it’s central theme is optimism. Nancy Lee’s artwork is representative of her positive outlook on the future of her country. It depicts an elderly black woman sitting on a park bench, watching children play, while looking up at an american flag outlined by blue skies. The woman has undoubtedly faced years of discrimination based on the color of her skin. She has seen some of the darkest moments of American History, and the worst of human nature – and yet, she is not filled with hate herself. Her eyes remain trained upwards, looking in deep reverence at the American flag, and she is surrounded by the next generation of American citizens. They are too young to understand her pain, and yet, they share her optimism for the future of the country. The grandma understands that they are not born hating her heritage, and that the key to the future is in teaching them acceptance and love.

The painting in many ways mirrors Nancy Lee’s own character progression. She begins the story as one of the children in the painting – while she is aware of her skin color, she has not yet experienced racism or hatred as a result of it. Her naivety is not the result of ignorance on her part, but rather the goodness of the children around her. All of her classmates hold immense respect for her, both as an artist and as a friend. Nancy is optimistic for her future and for her country, for which she is very prideful. Upon first winning the scholarship, she plans to use her acceptance speech to preach about the equality and fairness on which the United States is built. She is unfortunately sucked away from the reality when the committee finds out that she is a student of color. For a moment, she questions everything that she knew about the country she holds dear to her heart – but her principal intervenes, reminding her that “we still have this world of ours democracy to make”. With this wisdom and understanding, Nancy Lee is able to move past her pain and enter the role of the grandmother in the painting. She is no longer blind to the inhumane actions of her country, or the hatred that so deeply pervades the deep south, yet she is optimistic. She understands that her actions, and her art, can help mold her country into a more equitable future. With this revelation, Hughes lays out his central argument that still rings true today: Yes, injustice exists, but you must let it define you. It is your job to take action, to be the change that you wish to see, and to make the country that you love even greater.

I would strongly recommend reading Hughes’ short story. Even though it was written almost 70 years ago, it’s message still rings true. Racism and injustice still remain across the United States, but they are not as widespread as when this story was written. While this is cause for celebration, it is not cause for complacency. The optimism that young people like Nancy Lee provided for the future in the face of hate is admirable, and is a tradition which our generation must continue, so that we may create the America which we are proud to call home.

The furious squeaks of a marker on a whiteboard fill the classroom, an echoing, abstract melody given rhythm only by the staccato percussion of rain on the glass window beside me. Grey-woolen clouds blanket the sky, offering a cool, dark respite from the harsh overhead lighting that reflects off of my desk and into my eyes.  I don’t notice – my eyes sink below the desk, entranced by the portal sitting in my lap.  With each turn of the sea-spray weathered, dragon-breath singed pages, I fall deeper into its grasp, and into the world of Alagaësia.  I follow Eragon as he rides Saphira over the wintry peaks of the Beor Mountains, across the lifeless expanse of the Hadarac Desert, and into the fog-laden forest of Du Weldenwarden.  “Carter?”  A muffled voice peeks through my portal, and   I am thrown back into my physical being with a violent jolt.  My book snaps shut.  “Can you give us the answer here?” my teacher asks again.  With little confidence, and even less knowledge of what we were talking about, I can only stammer out a guess: “2- 24?”.  The class is silent, and the light patter of the rain on the window crescendos into a deafening roar.  “Very good Carter, I can tell you’ve been paying attention!”.  I breathe a sigh of relief and sink back into my chair, and after a quick check over my shoulder – it’s safe to reopen the portal.

I always thought that my mid-class excursions to another realm went unnoticed.  The truth is, no matter how hard I may have tried, I was never very good at hiding my reading. When I returned to my 4th grade classroom years later, my teacher joked that “the sound of a hardcover book clapping shut whenever I looked in your direction was a dead giveaway.” While my lack of focus in math may have negatively impacted my test scores, I trust that those forty-five minutes a day were not wasted on me.  As she said best, “I knew the friends you made and the places you visited in your books were far more important than multiplication tables.  And, you were never that bad at math for someone who didn’t hear a single one of my lessons.”  

Try as I might, no reading today feels the same as those mid-class journeys to another dimension.  There exists a certain indefinable quality in illegal reading, in the banned book, the book that exists only in a flashlight’s glare under the covers.  To read illegally, the reader must provide their complete focus, turning each page with quiet care and consideration so as not to arouse suspicion.    This focus transforms the very nature of reading; no longer are you a reader, but a participant.  You, too, gaze out on the landscapes the author paints, and you, too, converse with the characters he gives voice to.   No longer does the reader judge the book’s contents through the lense of the outside world, for it ceases to exist altogether.  There is no meaning to take back with you, no knowledge to be saved for the future – the author’s words are all that ever have been, and all that ever will be.

I understand the necessity in dissecting literature, finding meaning to the author’s words, so that we may learn their truth and apply it to the real world.  These actions provide structure, and allow us to get the most out of a piece of writing.  They will, however, never replace the feeling of illegal reading.  I look back on memories of Eragon, Hogwarts, and Alex Ryder with the same wistful appreciation as I do my most treasured childhood memories.  The fact that they came within the bindings of a book make them no less real.