Jonny McCambridge column: Battered, bruised, burnt and broken as I get soundly beaten in the big burrito battle

While I have never done it, my guess would be that I don’t possess the psyche, constitution, concentration or reflexes which would enable me to fly a large passenger aeroplane.

However, in more workaday surroundings I like to think that I can progress my skills to meet the expected demands of life. Once, several decades ago I did not know how to drive a car. Now I can drive. The change did not happen overnight, but advancement came gradually through practice and repetition.

Cooking is another example. When I left my childhood home my culinary skills were limited. Now I can feed myself and my family adequately. I can bake a cake or a loaf of bread. My knife skills were once poor, but I can now chop proficiently without severing a digit (so far). Through years of watching Jamie Oliver, I have developed the technique of tossing the contents of a pan with the reasonable expectation that only some of the food will land on the floor.

But there are blind spots. Notably, I have never been able to master the art of rolling a tortilla wrap (or any kind of wrap for that matter). I have observed the method and it seems straightforward. The flour or corn tortilla is packed full of food and then folded into a neat package which prevents the contents from escaping.

But when I try to do the same thing it always ends badly. The end product is as leaky as the Titanic after it hit the iceberg. This, of course, is not a debilitating situation. I’ve almost made it to 50 without being able to do it. Frankly though, it does annoy me. I like fajitas and burritos and feel it should not be beyond my wit to be able to eat one without leaving a trail of food on the floor.

So, determinedly, I set my mind to the task. I have cooked a huge pot of chilli beef which will provide dinners for the week. My intention is to make fat burritos stuffed with the beef and rice. I want them securely wrapped so I can cover the burritos with cheese to be melted under the grill.

I spend some time watching instructional videos on Youtube. There is, it seems, a method to making a successful wrap. The food should be placed in a certain position on the tortilla, the fingers used to create a fan shape, the thumbs used to fold. I practise for some hours using a sheet of paper. It occurs to me that this is a test of nerve.

Having the ambition to stuff the tortilla full, the bravery to pull the wrap tight without ripping it, the daring to roll it swiftly and decisively. I am ready.

On Monday evening I set to the job. I ladle great lumps of chilli beef onto the tortilla and then smother it with rice. I take a deep breath and recall my training, going over the steps in my mind. The fingers here, the thumbs there. I grab the edge of the wrap and begin the deft manoeuvre.

Things quickly begin to go wrong. The food immediately spills onto the plate below. I try again. This time I succeed in completing one roll before the contents begin to leak out from the open sides. As I struggle, the chilli sauce begins to stream across my forearms like molten lava escaping a volcano. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”, I yell, a combination of burning pain and growing frustration.

“What’s going on in there?” My wife calls from the next room. “Are you ok?”

“Everything’s under control. I’m just making dinner.”

I keep going. After 15 minutes I have six, what could only be very loosely described as burritos, in a baking tray. I look at them sadly. They are opening gradually like flowers under the spring sun. The contents are spilling everywhere. They look like badly crafted life-rafts. I sigh deeply and cover them with cheese.

On Tuesday evening I try again. The results are no more successful. I decide that I was not bold enough in my approach, so I adopt a more aggressive technique. I will be the master of the burrito. This succeeds only in ripping the tortillas so that the food discovers a new exit route.

Wednesday evening is the saddest effort of all. Perhaps I am demoralised by my earlier failures. I have lost all confidence in the technique (the burrito is now the master) and the end product resembles a messy pulp. The final straw is when I present the dinner to my wife and she exclaims: ”Oh, are we not having burritos tonight?”

But the human spirit is resilient. Late on Wednesday night, when the rest of the house is asleep, I creep back downstairs. I spend another hour watching Youtube videos. It is fair to say that opinion is divided on the best way to wrap a tortilla. I begin to make notes. Then I start to draw a diagram with little arrows.

I practise with some cold contents. After multiple failures, I begin to see slow improvement. The clock ticks past one in the morning as my training finally begins to bear fruit. The wraps are not perfect, and I know the test will be steeper when the food is hot, but I feel better prepared and my confidence is restored.

On Thursday evening I rise smugly from the spot of the sofa and announce to my family that I am going to make dinner. “Do you mind if we have something different tonight?’” my wife asks. “I’m a bit fed up with burritos.”