You don’t go to a place like King Burrito sober. It’s possible, mind you, but such phenomena as coin-operated dispensers of religious-themed temporary tattoos, inexplicably hard-laminated copies of the Arbor Lodge neighborhood newsletter, and burritos the size and heft of a small log (only $3.95!) are best experienced with a drunk’s heightened sense of appreciation. Otherwise, King Burrito stands as just another solid yet geographically anonymous installment of its genre—The Cheap Yet Reliably Good Mexican Takeout Place That Time Forgot, that of the water-stained drop ceiling and hard plastic trays and white people who roll their R’s when ordering a bottle of Jarritos. Since you’re at King Burrito, odds are you’re looking for value, not foodie cred, so try the chimichanga—for only $5.75, you’ll receive a paper boat literally overflowing with meat, fried tortilla, lettuce, tomatoes, avocado and sour cream. It probably won’t be Oregon Tilth-certified, or local, or organic, or even in season, but, provided you’re still drunk, it will be, like, the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your life, man.