My most recent disappointment happened at the long-awaited branch of Loco Pez (700 S. 20th St.), which earned my appreciation at the Fishtown original for its updated winks at Tex-Mex clichés. Its newest location, though, is essentially the cliché it once defied. Tissue-thin chips were too flimsy to grip the sloppy, ice-cold guacamole. Burnt al pastor meat tasted nothing like al pastor. And I’ve eaten few things as regrettable as the Volcano Burrito. This oozing tube of cheesy-bean magma was so gratuitously overspiced, our server confided: “You don’t want to eat a Volcano too far from home.” I’ll spare you the details, but unfortunately, she wasn’t lying.