So, until I wake up from this dream, allow me to paint you a picture of my fairy tale existence in the City by the Bay.
Please read in the most delightfully overly dramatic, British fey voice.
|Our hero...in modest repose.|
Stepping out of the house, he blithely passes through the park greeting the pups and their people with a lighthearted smile. (Note: survey says that there are more dogs in San Francisco than children...and I miss the Buster dog). Oh, look! Is that a fancy ice cream store churning out deliciousness for the neighborhood? It is! ('Nother note: Bi-Rite Creamery makes a Salted Caramel ice cream that will make you slap your pappy.) There's a beautiful bunch of tulips...I must buy some upon my return home. Good morning locally owned and operated organic food store! My taste buds and ecologically conscious mind thank you.
And there it is. At the end of the block, shining in the morning light, is the most magical place on earth: Tartine. One step inside this holy shrine and you realize you are not in Kansas anymore. Glass cases are filled to the brim with freshly baked cakes and breads while atop these glittering vessels of baked love sit cookies and French macaroons, silent and tasty prisoners longing to be liberated from their glass domed cells. Decadent pastries known as Morning Buns, close cousins to the cinnamon bun but on orange infused sugar steroids, call out your name. Croque monsieur beckon to take them home like the wanton Frenchmen they are. How does one make up one's mind?
|Gourge, double pain aut chocolat, croissant, morning buns, tea cakes, and quiche!|
You don't and you order half the store.
So move along, princess, and get your fat butt back up that hill, you've got some eating to do!