On the US-Mexico border, the perfect burrito is a thin, foil-wrapped treasure

ONE bite of a chile verde con papas burrito at Burritos Sarita in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico has the power to shatter whatever preconceived notions you have about burritos. In it, a pillowy soft flour tortilla, with hints of smoke from the griddle, swaddles a fragrant mix of tender potatoes, caramelised onions and fire-roasted chile verde, coated in a salty and tangy thick crema.

From start to finish, the tin-foiled treasure is delicate and neat. Burrito renditions far from this border city tend to be overstuffed, oversized, overdressed and overblown. But here, a purist burrito, as locals call it, has only what it needs: one tortilla, one filling.

“It is our hallmark,” said Paty Covarrubias, the food truck’s general manager, of burritos’ importance to the city. She has been working for her aunt Sarita Alfaro’s business since she was 14.

“My tia taught me you have to know how to make every part of the burrito yourself,” she said. Covarrubias had been up since 3.50 am preparing daily guisados, or stews, and kneading flour tortillas before opening at 8.30 am.

Just across the Rio Grande, this quintessential comida fronteriza – border food – is just as integral to the cultural identity of El Paso, Texas, Juarez’s sister city in the US.

“You can count on someone eating a burrito every second of every hour of every day here,” said Steve Vasquez, the owner and burrito maker at La Colonial Tortilla Factory in El Paso. The tortilleria sells as many as 800 burritos on any given morning.

No one questions that Juarez is the birthplace of burritos, though there are competing origin stories. Some attribute their creation to Juan Mendez, who sold guisados wrapped in flour tortillas from a donkey-pulled buggy – a burrito – during the Mexican Revolution. Others say they were born of the workers who took these wraps on the go and then called them burritos because they resembled the rolled blankets that sat atop donkeys in the fields. Some say they were named after children who helped women carry their shopping – endearingly nicknamed burritos – and paid with these wraps.

Both cities strive to maintain and preserve a purist burrito tradition while defining a fine burrito experience. Yet it is hard to deny that there is a friendly but deep rivalry.

Vasquez said La Colonial has throngs of customers from Juarez who cross the border primarily for his burrito de chile relleno with chile con queso. And Covarrubias said she has regulars from El Paso who seek out her burrito de chile verde con papas.

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“I have always been scared to try the burritos from somewhere else because it is just not the same,” Vasquez said. “People brought us some from Juarez, and they are OK, but nothing like ours.”

Covarrubias once caught her daughters bringing home some burritos from El Paso. She said with a laugh: “You can imagine the scolding I gave them!”

Despite that competitiveness, both cities can agree that the same essential elements produce a burrito worth bragging about: It must be made with a flour tortilla and an emphasis on one filling, with no gratuitous toppings, and eaten on the go.

On both sides of the Rio Grande, the love for and dedication to the craft of making what they consider true burritos are perhaps what define the style most. Making them, Vasquez said, “has to come from the heart.”

Covarrubias echoed that sentiment. “The main ingredient is mucho amor (lots of love).”