When Steve Ells was 28 years old, he wasn’t trying to build a global empire.
He simply wanted to open a fine-dining restaurant — the kind of elegant, ingredient-driven place that would reflect his classical training from the Culinary Institute of America and his time working under the celebrated San Francisco chef Jeremiah Tower.
But there was a problem: he didn’t have the capital to fund that dream.
So, instead of waiting for the perfect investor or opportunity, Ells decided to start smaller. In July 1993, he borrowed $85,000 from his father, converted a former ice-cream store near the University of Denver, and opened something unexpected — a burrito shop.
His plan wasn’t glamorous.
He calculated that if he could sell 107 burritos a day, he’d break even — enough, he thought, to fund his real dream: the fine-dining restaurant he envisioned.
But what happened next changed not just his life, but the entire fast-food industry.
From day one, Ells brought his fine-dining standards into a setting that had none.
He used fresh produce, hand-cut meats, and real herbs and spices — not frozen bags or pre-mixed sauces.
He insisted on classic cooking methods: grilling, roasting, chopping, and tasting — the way chefs, not franchises, operate.
He rejected microwaves and freezers. Everything was made by hand, every day.
At the time, this approach was almost heretical.
People told him, “Fast-food customers don’t care about freshness.”
They said, “It’s too slow, too complicated, too expensive.”
Others dismissed him entirely: “If you want to survive in fast food, you have to cut corners.”
But Ells saw something they didn’t:
That people were ready — perhaps hungry — for something better.
The first day, sales were modest. But as word spread, students from the nearby campus lined up down the street. Within weeks, the store wasn’t selling 107 burritos a day — it was selling over 1,000.
The little burrito shop designed as a stepping stone became profitable almost immediately.
By 1995, Ells opened a second location, funded entirely from the first store’s cash flow.
In 1996, a third — this time with an SBA loan — and an additional $1.5 million from his father, who had seen firsthand what integrity and craftsmanship could build.
The fine-dining restaurant he once planned? It never happened. Because something much bigger was taking shape.
In 1998, McDonald’s took notice and made a strategic investment that fuelled explosive national growth.
By the time Chipotle went public in 2006, there were over 500 locations — and the stock price doubled on its first day of trading.
McDonald’s ultimately exited its position for more than $1 billion in profit.
And in March 2025, over thirty years after opening that first store, Steve Ells became a billionaire.
Today, Chipotle operates in the thousands of restaurants worldwide.
It’s more than a fast-casual chain — it’s a case study in how elevating standards in a low-expectation industry can redefine an entire category.
Ells never followed the traditional route.
He didn’t climb the ladder or wait for someone else’s permission.
He borrowed modestly, stayed true to his craft, and proved that you can build scale without sacrificing soul.
The real moral isn’t about burritos or billion-dollar valuations.
It’s about refusing to believe that excellence and accessibility can’t coexist.
It’s about bringing fine-dining integrity into everyday experiences — and trusting that customers notice quality when they taste it.
Because when you decide to do things right, not fast, to be different, not derivative, and to honour your standards instead of lowering them to fit in,
people eventually line up for what you’ve built.
The lesson for all of us:
The dream you’re postponing might not need to wait.
The side project you’re dismissing could be the empire you were meant to build.
And sometimes, the humble burrito shop you open with borrowed money becomes your billion-dollar legacy — not in spite of your standards, but because of them.
