I have a theory that the life of every San Franciscan, native or new, can be chronicled in burritos. There’s the First Burrito, the Worst Burrito, (many) Late-Night Drunk Burritos, the Beloved Burrito, the Convenient Burrito—and many of these, of course, change over the years, as we do.

When I first arrived in the city, 21 years ago, I was quickly introduced to my First Burrito. It was big and cheap and—to my suburban-Boston, Burger King–raised palate—an amazing creation. For a while, I ate basically nothing but burritos for dinner (and subsisted on bad bagels for breakfast, which got me through lunch). At that time, I was undiscriminating and inconsistent in my burrito tastes—and a vegetarian. I was also living on Van Ness Avenue, a thoroughfare lined with auto dealerships and steakhouses, all beyond my budget.

This meant that my Convenient Burrito came from a kitschy place called Pancho’s, on Polk Street, owned by a Jewish restaurateur named Randy Kaplan. My order was “The Veggie,” filled with things I’ve since come to detest in my burrito, like mushrooms and steamed broccoli and squash. One night, I got it “Atomico”-style—smothered with thick red chili sauce, melted cheese, and sour cream—ultimately leading me to pass out in a burrito coma on the couch and miss the second half of the Seinfeld finale. I took a bit of a burrito break after that.

My hiatus ended a couple of years later, when I resettled near the Mission and began eating meat again. Burritos and I were back on, big time. These days, burritos and I have become more like good friends—we don’t get to see each other as often as we used to, but whenever we get together, it’s like nothing has changed.

Most locals' burrito-eating habits ebb and flow, but whether they enjoy a burrito weekly or yearly, it is, almost always, the same burrito. Because there’s another burrito category locals love to discuss: the hands-down best burrito.

Tasting and debating and proselytizing for our nearly two-pound stuffed tortillas is a tradition. One that—as the city continues to change, and the family-run fixtures that sell them work hard to stay open—deserves to be honored again and again. For as long as both San Francisco and its burritos shall live.