Full disclosure: I have no fucking clue where this place is. What is a Brearly Street anyway? So many questions. What I do know is that when I'm in Madison for a couple days I eventually have a pretty civilized conversation with my stomach. It goes like this:
Stomach: Burrito?
Me: We just had breakfast.
S: Yeah, but burrito.
Me: They don't open until 11.
S: Ok so burrito at 11?
Me: Maybe.
S. Don't you dare maybe me I will fucking end you.
Girlfriend: Who are you talking to?
Me: What? I'm not talking to anybody. Who would I be talking to? You're crazy. How do you feel about burritos for lunch?
Girlfriend: Again? OK. (leaves room)
S: That's right, bitches. Come to daddy, braised pork burrito.
So roughly 30 minutes after I'm verbally abused by one of my own internal organs a guy magically shows up with a tasty treat for me. I like the braised pork burrito, the high roller burrito and the steak quesadilla. When I eat them my stomach stops saying mean things to me and I don't have to cry myself to sleep.