For breakfast at a restaurant across the street from my hotel I didn’t have quite enough to eat, so I ordered a side of avocado slices. I was hoping for some understanding of why California avocados are so famous, and why transplants miss them so much. But there had been nothing memorable about the ingredients in my California roll, and these avocados didn’t taste like much either. They really weren’t anything different from the guacamole at Chipotle, or the egg, avocado and cheese sandwich I had at the Phoenix airport. They were improved with salt. In all fairness, picking a restaurant at random in the tourist district is not the way to find extraordinary food. Googling “good food San Francisco” would lead me into an amusing labyrinth that I have no time to traverse.
I found a tea shop for lunch, hidden in a rooftop courtyard next to a garden of coneflowers, and ordered their kale salad with beet ribbons and pumpkin seeds; and I met some colleagues for dinner and we ended up at an Italian restaurant, where I probably should have followed the lead of my coworkers and ordered the leprechaun-green gnocchi.
(Photo: Yerba Buena gardens, San Francisco.)
365 Days of Food 