Tortilla torture

I dare you to find a better Mexican food joint in LA.

Just make sure that when you lose this bet to give me the 11 bucks and change in cash so I can take it directly to buy one of the MAGICAL BURRITOS THAT I AM OBSESSED WITH!!!!

My friend Courtney says I eat to live.

Except for when it comes to the magical chicken wet burrito with red salsa at La Costa Grande in the Valley.

I called my Dad today to talk about my feelings for the burrito.

"Let's just put it this way," I told him. "I was here last Friday, I'm here today, and I'll be here tomorrow."

It's true. I have plans to grab chow at my favorite place tomorrow on my way to watch an outdoor movie with some girlfriends.

Knowing this, I considered not getting a burrito for lunch today, but the craving won out and I had to have one, with its crunchy, minutely chopped onions inside.

I have fantasized about the onions while driving down the road. I'm not kidding.

After I swiped my card to be rewarded with my tortilla-wrapped bliss, my love arrived at my table within 5 minutes.

This is typical.

Because the burrito is magical. How does something so deliciously (and beautifully, I might add) crafted arrive in five minutes?!!?

I told Dad my current weight and got a famed "Holy crap" out of him.

"Hey, I'm training for a half marathon," I said. The carbs and protein keep me fueled.

The staff is extremely friendly, and while this is a casual dining place, get this:

they bring you chips and salsa.

I know.

And bus your dishes.

I know.

I promise this is a real place.

And I'm glad I'm moving to a new apartment so that its caloric temptations will be farther than spitting distance from me and my ever-widening belly.

But they will be missed. And every time I come back to visit, my gut will lurch at the prospect of the happiness that is about to meet it. I won't be able to see it until I nearly reach the laundromat at the end of the hidden strip mall and pull into a tiny parking space.

But I'll know it's there.

And I'll go inside and begin to drown myself in Diet Coke, until yet another log of love arrives before me, floating in its Orange County-sized swimming pool of salsa.

And later, as the leftovers sit in my fridge, they will cry to me, "I'm heeeeere!" until I can't stand it anymore and rip them from their Styrofoam cage and feast upon the reheated beans and rice.

I have a problem.

You too will have this problem once you taste that which is the La Costa Grande chicken wet burrito.

Trust me.

And then you will realize it's not a problem.

It's a love affair.