Restaurant Review: Rancherito's Mexican Food

In the early spring of 1984 my wife and children finally succeeded with their "Keep Dad at Home!" campaign. It started a few weeks earlier, when I returned home by bus, minus my wedding ring, which I had hocked for bus fare -- after being red lighted by the Tarzan Zerbini Shrine Circus in the wilds of Arkansas. I vowed to Amy that never again would I go out on the road with a circus. Our marriage was already strained by my long absences and the lack of a steady dependable income. Amy and the kids stormed the very gates of heaven with their earnest requests for help. Heaven heard them, but chose to mock me . . .

Through tears and prayers and the help of Mike Kronforst at Brown Institute (my old Alma Mater) I was offered the position of News Director at KPRM Radio up in Park Rapids, Minnesota. Plus, once the owner,Ed DeLaHunt, heard of my clown background, he offered to double my salary. All I had to do was make a few guest appearances in my clown character every month, touting the station.

All went well for several weeks. I had just located a three-bedroom cottage next to Itasca State Park to rent, where the kids could gambol through the forest, when the fell hand of my cursed karma descended once again. DeLaHunt switched his FM band over to an automated system, then grandly informed me I was his new FM station manager -- along with all my other duties. All that was required, he said, was to follow the manual for setting up time slots for songs and commercials, and the automation would take care of the rest.

I couldn't understand the manual, not even when DeLaHunt sat down with me and went through it step by step. My attempts at programming the automation led to the same song being played repeatedly for several hours, or, even worse, hours of dead silence on the FM side.

I was let go, and to keep the wolf from the door, was soon back out on the road with another mud show, taking pratfalls and selling coloring books during intermission.

So what the hell has this got to do with a review of Rancherito's? Just this. As I go through life I find there are some things I can't learn from any book. One of these, obviously, is how to program an automated radio station. Another is how to make a burrito. Despite hours spent studying recipes on the Internet, whenever I attempt a burrito at home I wind up screaming obscenities at a fry pan full of burnt chorizo and shredded tortillas.

So when I want a burrito I have to go out. Which is what I did today.

 Rancherito's is located across the street from the Provo Deseret Industries building. I took the bus down after my morning aquatics class at the Rec Center, and ordered a breakfast burrito and medium fountain drink. One of Rancherito's strong points is their superb salsa bar, which features  pickled carrots, whole pickled jalapenos, sliced limes, sliced radishes, chopped onions and cilantro, three kinds of salsa, and prickly pear cactus fruit in brine:

You won't see anything like that at Taco Bell, amigo.
The burrito itself is full of thick, chunky bacon, plus lots of fried potatoes and scrambled eggs:

The fact of the matter is I could only manage half of it. I rewrapped the other half and brought it home with me for a late lunch or early dinner. This is extremely greasy, starchy, salty, comfort food. I relished every bite, and felt happy to be alive. That's what a good hearty meal does for me, especially on a frosty morning with the sun glinting off the mountains and a good bowel movement just moments away. In fact, the only fly in the ointment was the Lilliputian size of the Men's Room:

 I could barely get the door shut.
So I'm giving this place a 3 Burp rating. However, don't bring your date or your wife here, guys. It's too seedy and utilitarian. Or if you just have to have a burrito, use the drive-through.
A breakfast burrito and a medium fountain drink set me back $7.40.

Oh, and the next circus I hitched up with after the KPRM debacle . . . they also fired me, for losing a shipment of coloring books. After that I got a job as Ronald McDonald -- but that's a story for another restaurant review . . .