These Mexicali-style, aluminum foil-wrapped burritos are for ‘lonches', not influencers

Editor's note: This article was originally published on L.A. TACO, a James Beard Award-winning, member-supported publication.

If simplicity in authenticity reigned supreme, these burritos would have their castle rather than an EZ-UP, a king’s table instead of a folding one, and a golden chest full of cachanilla burritos instead of an igloo with reused tortilla bags full of aluminum-wrapped burritos.

The stretch of Vermont Avenue, where El Cachanilla Burritos is located, is desolate. Behind the stand is a barbed wire metal fence protecting shipping containers, while across the street, a long-gardened stucco wall gates a residential community.

There sits Esmeralda Aguilar, of Mexicali, Mex., with a cooler full of burritos, in a small cover of shade cast by the branded banner under her blue EZ-UP. She has a coffee dispenser with cafe de olla and some green salsa she sells in jars. She’s ready to spring up whenever someone pulls over and parks.

Aguilar quickly gets to work reciting her burrito options as she points one by one at the fillings listed on the outside banner, viewable from the inside, thanks to some bright sunlight shining through.

They’re out of bistec today, but she does have pork chile verde, chorizo and eggs, ham and eggs, and papa con carne, which she’ll tell you is her top seller. Oh, and she also has chicharrón, which she’ll add to your order if you want.

Jesus Mendoza holds up an aluminum-wrapped burrito.

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Memo Torres

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L.A. TACO

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Jesus Mendoza sifting through the bags of burritos in his Coleman cooler where he stores them before serving.

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Memo Torres

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L.A. TACO

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Esmeralda sifts through the tortilla bags with her different options and pulls out slim, torpedo-shaped burritos wrapped in aluminum, placing them on the table individually. They’re not labeled, but she knows which one is which. After all, she cooked, filled, rolled, wrapped, and bagged every burrito with her husband, Jesus Mendoza.

Jesus and Esmeralda wake up at 3:30 a.m. to prepare 80 burritos daily. On a couple of days a week, Jesus takes some to Wilmington. If the police harass him, or when he sells out, he will head over to the couple's primary location on Vermont Boulevard in Gardena to relieve his wife, who suffers from chronic arthritis, so she can go home and rest.

Jesus also deals with disabilities that he suffered while working in construction when he fell and broke two ribs, his shoulder, and his neck. He can’t lift much anymore. These burritos represent the only income for Jesus, Esmeralda, and their two young daughters.

A trio of half-eaten burritos

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Memo Torres

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L.A. Taco

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A jar of green salsa, burritos and a cup of cafe de olla.

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Memo Torres

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L.A. TACO

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These are the burritos that northern Mexico is familiar with, especially in the borderlands that stretch from Juarez to Mexicali. These are not the french-fries-filled burritos of San Diego, the beans-rice-and-meat burritos of Los Angeles, or the everything-and-your-mama burritos of San Francisco that most average civilians are familiar with. These are laborers' burritos.

Influencers looking for a burrito with extravagant flavors and an Instagrammable appearance might not get it. It might be too basic or have zero "aura" (as the kids say). That's okay; these burritos aren’t made for them.

They are fundamentally sound burritos whose strength comes from their practical simplicity. A spread of creamy refried beans and a spatula’s worth of a tasty guisado wrapped in a Sonora-style flour tortilla is all that's needed to make these burritos special to those who grew up with them.

These are an easy bite. Unlike the more common burritos found around California, you don’t have to swaddle its bottom as you try to avoid the inevitable spillage with each giant bite. Cachanilla burritos can be held like you hold a karaoke mic as you go in for each bite.

For those who won’t be impressed, it’s understandable. After all, it could be that la chinga makes them taste better. You know, la chinga of working in the sun as it feels more and more like a laser beam every year amid climate changes — la chinga of having to penny-pinch and not spend on lunch trucks or fast food — or la chinga of waking up early every morning to make lunch for your family, fill a cooler, and sit in the streets hoping to avoid harassment by the police in Wilmington or a random street vendor attack.