I’d forgotten how much I’ve missed San Diego Mexican food. Don’t tell my SF friends I said so, but SoCal has objectively better carne asada burritos.

I took my wife and kid to a tiny restaurant in the right part of Oakland and got a burrito literally bigger than my forearm. This will also be supper tonight and lunch tomorrow.

-ito nothing, this is the whole burro.

Huh, whatever could that be?

It looks promising.

Awww, yeah.

This is a “breakfast fatty”. It’s basket woven bacon, layered with sausage, then eggs and cheese, and rolled up, basted with maple syrup, and smoked for 2 hours.

The Midwest is not known for its healthy food, but wow, does it ever taste good.

The new cajun place next door finally has muffuletta sandwiches in stock. First, they’re every bit as delicious as I remembered from first trying them many years ago. Second, I now know how I’ll die, and that I’ll die smiling contentedly.

It’s an Aperol spritz kind of afternoon.

Crab cake Benedict, Red House Cafe, Pacific Grove, California.

St. Louis ribs, cooked for 20 minutes in an Instant Pot then basted and baked for 10 minutes.

In which I try frying turnips for the first time.

I used to work near a little restaurant called “Rasta Grill”. It was this weird fusion of Italian and Jamaican food, and everything was absolutely delicious. We’d walk down to Rasta at least once a week or so and have giant plates of spaghetti with jerk chicken in the wonderfully bizarre atmosphere.

Well, we always suspected that some of the employees perhaps took the Rasta theme a little far, and occasionally partook of Jamaica’s other famous export. Our suspicions grew one day:

Us, ordering: …and an order of garlic bread.

Cashier: [writes “GBR” on the ticket, but draws the “G” almost like a “6”]

Cook, taking ticket: OK…. hey, what’s “6 B R”?

Cashier: That’s a “G”. It’s garlic bread.

Cook: [long, confused pause] And they want 6 of ’em?