Life

Three Food Writers Attempt To Make The Perfect Breakfast Burrito

Perfect Breakfast Burrito
20th Century Fox/Uproxx

Welcome friends and burrito-lovers. You know what you’re here for. It’s that hallowed activity of the gods: ARGUING ABOUT FOOD ON THE INTERNET.

Whose sauce is too saucy? Who doesn’t have the astronomical fat content we want — nay need — from a burrito like this? And what monster added mushrooms? Find out below and deliver your hot takes with a side of Fire sauce.

— Steve Bramucci, Managing Editor, Uproxx Life

PAST RESULTS:

BLT Showdown — 1) Vince 2) Zach 3) Steve
Mac & Cheese Showdown — 1) Vince 2) (tie) Zach, Steve
Taco Showdown — 1) Steve 2) Zach 3) Vince
Winter Stew Showdown — 1) Zach 2) Steve 3) Vince
Date Night Showdown — 1) Zach 2) Vince 3) Steve
Pasta Showdown — 1) Steve 2) Zach 3) Vince
Hot Beef Showdown — 1) Zach 2) Vince 3) Steve
Shellfish Showdown — 1) Vince 2) Zach 3) Steve
BBQ Showdown — 1) Steve 2) Zach 3) Vince
Pumpkin Spice Showdown — 1) (tie) Vince, Zach 2) Steve
Thanksgiving Side Dish Showdown — 1) Vince 2) Steve 3) Zach
Christmas Dessert Showdown — 1) Steve 2) Vince 3) Zach
Chili Cook-off Showdown — 1) Zach 2) Steve 3) Vince
Nacho Showdown — 1) Vince 2) Steve 3) Zach
Burger Showdown — 1) Zach 2) Vince 3) Steve

CURRENT SCORE:

We’re giving three points to the winner and one to second place for each round. As it stands, the score is:

ZACH: 24
VINCE: 22
STEVE: 18

STEVE’S BREAKFAST BURRITO “The Fat Kid’s Hangover”

Steve Bramucci

Oh, it’s that time of the month again! The special day when I spend a goddamn fortune on organic meats and cheeses so that my cohorts can write “Steve you really Steve’d the Steve this Steve!” and trot away with my well-deserved victory.

It’s not just the losing that gets me, friends. It’s the ease with which Vince and Zach trump me. As I delicately dress each hand-fried chip individually, colorblind Vince drops a pile of meat on a bed of bone-dry corn crisps and walks away with a win. While I use a recipe learned in Hawaii to create succulent butterfish, Zach cleans out his fridge and calls it a “tasting plate” — beating me handily.

At this point, Zach and Vince — who have joined some unholy alliance of humans who apparently never want to be sent on a travel writing trip by their editor ever again — are definitely in my head. With each dramatically overdone ingredient I buy to “out fancy” them, with each complicated technique that I mollify in hopes of winning the low brow vote, they burrow deeper into my brainstem. Two voices, whose punctuation tics I’m left to edit, trashing me on the monthly.

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