Burrito roulette.

There are many brands of frozen burritos (and, for "burritos", include various chimichangas, enchiladas, and any other individually packed, tubular tortilla-based container with variously-flavored contents.) There is only one, however, that I've ever been able to eat with anything like contentment: Patio®-brand frozen burrito food product.

I'm sure that the insides are the same blend of lips, sphincters, and texturized vegetable protein that all the other ones contain, but they have a much more palatable texture, and whatever blend of spices they use masks the flavor of packing plant floor sweepings nicely.

Now, make mock if you like, but in the convenience department, it's hard to beat a self-contained food item that requires no utensils be washed up, requires nowt but two minutes in the microwave in the way of preparation, is adequate stomach ballast to carry you through to a late dinner, and costs less than fifty cents (and are sometimes on sale, 3/$1.) They can be eaten one-handed while writing or gaming. If you're really busy, you can do something else during the two-minute prep time (try folding laundry while making a PB&J.) They're like MRE's for your freezer; a quick, no clean-up food item for when you're too in-the-middle-of-something for real food and are too busy to leave the house.

The only downside? I can't find them in Indianapolis.

I have sampled many different brands of burritos since I moved up here, standing in front of the microwave and muttering "Please, God, don't let this burrito suck," (which my roommate apparently thought was some existential philosophical statement until I emerged from the kitchen with an actual burrito on a plate.) Thus far, life has been a string of one disappointment after another, but I have not given up hope on finding another brand of edible frozen Burrito. It is my quest, my goal, my obsession.