If celebrity culture teaches us Angelenos anything, it's that we do things in public we oughtn't with gleeful recklessness. Gastronomically speaking, we occasionally revel in D-list, post-party moments that we later regret: Oki Dog, or Pink's, or the all-night Tommy's on the corner of Beverly and Rampart.
When those weak moments of guilty gullet pleasures catch up with us in the morning, so too has the hung-over moment of clarity that brings back the memories in vivid, 1080p HD. What the hell were we thinking?
We take the walk of shame and go back for more, that's what. Behold the breakfast burrito from Tommy's Original. If eating their chili burger over the trunk of your car at 3 a.m. couldn't kill you, then surely you can survive another round to start your day, right? Right?
It's a pinnacle of fat and starch: a deep-fried, fast-food hash brown patty adds crunch to the meaty chew of a breakfast sausage patty. A slice of American cheese melts atop the bottom strata of scrambled egg (most likely poured out from a pasteurized carton) that anchors the mess with the loamy density of a Scottish peat bog.
Capping this oil well is the skanky, cumin-heavy, love-or-hate potion that is Tommy's chili. Succumb to your darker impulses. Those that love it are hooked on it like black tar heroin, gladly scarfing the ground mystery meat sluiced in pasty goo.
Add up all these elements and you have the Ke$ha of breakfast burritos: the alpha bad girl, hella proud of its sleazy, Whiskey Tango reputation. It's a nasty train wreck of a dish, but at the same time, you want to hit that. You know you do. Also like partying with Ke$ha, getting checked out by your doctor afterward is a good idea.