Waaaaaayback Machine: "El Gigante Conquered Me"

So tonight, because my brain is completely dead (and because I'm busy doing research for another series of entries wooo). The following is one of the first things I ever wrote for the Daily Tar Heel, and my first ever piece of food writing. It's about a giant burrito that they serve at this fairly craptacular Mexican restaurant in Chapel Hill, NC, called Bandido's (I'll give them the margaritas, those are good, but the rest of the food is spectacularly meh).

It's a seven-pound burrito filled with horror and cheese, and it scarred me a little. On the plus side, this column did win a Hearst award from my J-school (still waiting on my $50 reward check, guys, feel free to send it on over any time). Alas, behold, the beginnings of genius (with a few minor edits, mostly to edit out all the stuff Bryan, my editor, put in at the time. I love ya, but I remember every word you put into my writing, and I'm takin' that shit out):

I am 5 feet 4 inches tall and weigh in at a sprightly 125 pounds. Needless to say, I am a pretty small lady. So why the hell would I even think about trying to eat the 6-pound monster that is "El Gigante" at Bandido's Mexican Cafe on East Franklin Street?
I had heard harrowing stories of others' triumphs and failures (mostly failures) in eating this behemoth. It seemed to be the stuff of legends in Chapel Hill. I had to have a go at it.
"El Gigante" is a gargantuan burrito stuffed with rice, black beans, chicken and steak fajitas, and myriad other lovely Tex-Mex offerings. It's made with two large tortillas and is so big that it hangs limply off of the edges of the plate it's served on.
Contrary to popular belief, you do not get the burrito for free if you finish it — just a T-shirt that says "I conquered El Gigante."
The waiter, Paul, described it as "not a spur-of-the-moment thing."
Oops.
Let me start off by saying that I had no delusions that I was even going to come close to finishing this thing. I would have lauded myself if I had even made it halfway.
But after I examined the wall of champions near the door, and talked to the waiter about the mythical burrito, my confidence got the best of me — I actually began to think I could finish it for a minute.
I would even eat the pieces of raw tomato in it. I could do it!
Then it came.
As my meal was being carried out, I could hear the waiter behind me remarking, "It feels like carrying an infant!" just before he plopped it down unceremoniously in front of me.
I opened my eyes, and a wail of horror I recognized not as my own voice escaped from my lips.
My eyes welled up uncontrollably with tears. Before me sat the single most horrifyingly large piece of food I have ever seen in person.
That was it. I had been beaten before I had even started.
The first few bites weren't too bad, but once I hit the hot lettuce piled on top, I could barely stand to go further.
The taunts of my table mates didn't help. Their tiny cheese and mushroom quesadillas looked absolutely darling in comparison.
I longed for a tiny pile of unadulterated Mexican rice of my own. But alas, I had to press on.
I soon gave up on actually eating the whole thing and performed a swift Y-incision to expose the meat, rice and beans inside.
I shifted the food around on my plate in a vain attempt to find something edible, but my stomach had reached its capacity.
To give you an idea of just how much was left, the Styrofoam box containing the leftovers wouldn't close, and I was left with a bag full of soggy tortilla and guacamole.
I felt disgusting. I felt violated. By a burrito.
I didn't even care about the free T-shirt by the time I escaped.
They only come in XXL anyway.