A T-Rex might ponder....
Is a burrito a sandwich?
Why you must ask me such things as lie beyond my sphere of expertise, I shall never know. Is a bicycle a vehicle? Is a chihuahua actually a dog? Is a pregnant woman a human submarine when she goes swimming?
According to hipster conventional wisdom, a burrito is many things. It is the best thing you ever ate at 4:17 a.m., after that one house show by the obscure band you can’t remember anymore. It is your best and cheapest sustenance from the local —berto’s after you lost that sweet technical writing job and spent nine weeks selling off vintage bicycle parts to pay the rent. A burrito is the one who listens when the girlfriend who was a good cook moves out, and facing the stove (you used to cook together there) makes you want to gargle the cooking sherry. A burrito is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you. A burrito asks nothing more than your $4.67 after tax, and gives in return the deep-down, all-over warm fuzzies like none other.
A burrito is all these things and more, but it sure as hell ain’t no sandwich, sir, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, or, better yet, wrap that in your tortilla and chew it.