wrapmeinbacon

There are three things that calm me down: car rides, mountains, and babies. Today, I went in a car ride in between mountains with babies. I was basically comatose.

I noticed this because it was the first time in a month I felt that way. A strange thing happened in San Francisco: I became averse to sleep. Just beyond my door, there would be a graffiti class, or a flash mob (try not to judge, but I may have joined a Beyonce flash mob). There are mountains and parks and lakes that make you do a triple take – it’s all so perfectly orchestrated. Every day, I wake up and think to myself – I get to live here.

There’s just a burst of cold that won’t allow complacency here. People are passionate, hardworking…they don’t care what you want, so long as you want it. They won’t allow for subpar food either. Every bite allows you to sink into a chef’s mind. Chips are not just chips – they are hand cut! With potatoes grown in that chef’s backyard, and cooked to perfection just under an hour ago! They are not just chips – they are chiiiiiiiiiiips.

The very first place I had the honor to try here was Foreign Cinema. They have goat cheese cheesecake. The cheesecake tastes like fresh goat cheese. With a buttery crust. It’s like someone took the best dessert there is, felt no fear when trying to improve it, served it, and did a mike drop.

Yes, they are famous for their fried chicken with hummus that makes you want to curl up into a little ball and then it just feels like home again. And yes, it’s obscenely awesome that they have a foreign film playing on the brick wall in the background – lots of drama, can’t hear a thing, but God, I felt so cultured. All of that is cool. But the cheesecake. The cheesecake.

Just get the cheesecake.

The farmers’ market on the Embarcadero is around 40% responsible for my move to San Francisco. I do eat the samples as my brunch every Saturday. I tell you honestly only because I am so sure everyone else does there the same thing, and because I have no shame when it comes to food (this should be clear by now, no?).

Every fruit is a piece of juicy sweetness I never want to let go. There are six types of nectarines. I know this because I like all of them, and refuse to leave without eating all of them. The jams – what in the world do they put in the jams – are enough to make me melt.

They serve Korean tacos. Short ribs, gently marinated, with kimchi and a sauce made for the Gods, all carefully placed onto seaweed. I don’t know that I’ve had better food. What a statement, I know , but it’s true.

It’s a market that makes you feel cuddly. The people are too friendly and they just want to feed you (is there anything better?). When you move to a new city, and you go through the effort of making yourself vulnerable to so many people, it can feel dizzying. But if I ever feel rejected, I go to this market, and then I remember: wait, I am delightful. And then I have a Korean taco, because that is the ultimate form of love – and then I know it’s all going to be great.

Each course at NAOE evoked such excitement, almost like that giddy feeling in the first part of a relationship. After that thrill, you begin to think about each melding flavor, how the flavors work together, how they complement one another. You find strengths and weaknesses alike. The ending always came too abruptly, no matter how much or how little I enjoyed it, and I was promptly handed a lemon sorbet to cleanse my palate – get ready for another one, they tell you! Perhaps I am unusual in my response to this, but I do get fairly attached to my food, and I don’t take well to switching. That’s what the lemon sorbet is for – it’s tart and cold, and doesn’t allow you to look back.

What is scarier with your dating life is that there is no finite number of courses, no magical number of relationships that will set you on a path to satisfaction. Two courses may await you, or twelve. Even more surprising are the people who keep going past three, past that uncomfortable feeling of being swollen with regret, to find out what else awaits them – what bravery! Or fickle desperation, either one.

I write to you from my lemon sorbet of sorts. I don’t fully appreciate the taste of my last course anymore, although I remember soft notes of honey and mint, followed by a harsh burnt crust. I will procure my next course with greater meticulousness. I don’t know that I am brave enough to go through more than three courses. I love too easily, and feel full too easily. And so, for my next course, I’ve stubbornly shooed away the chicken pasta (sure, it’s good, but it won’t blow me away) and the buttered lobster (generally over-promises and under-delivers). The next one – oh, I will make the next one count. It’s going to be sweet, but airy.

And now, I take you to San Francisco. The good news is that the city was painstakingly picked out, with all the precision you might expect from someone who gets full with three courses. And with that, I bring you to foodie heaven.