Summer Fling Season

Some of you may remember (because you were following that closely) that I had a major fling/crush last summer. Yes, it was on a bakery. Of course, calling Tartine simply “a bakery” is like calling John F. Kennedy Jr. “some guy named John.” Sigh. (Major digression: I once had the opportunity to stay overnight with John when he was at Brown. I was looking at colleges and one of my childhood friends had gone to prep school with John; she arranged for me to stay with him while I visited. But she never told me the friend was John-John, and I ended up NOT going to visit Brown. My life could have been so different. So might his have been. Sigh again.)

Anyway, I am back in the city of San Francisco where the opportunity to fall in major food lust happens ever few blocks. I am beside myself with anticipation. There are simply not enough meals in the day. I even subscribed to Twitter so I could follow where certain food carts—selling everything from adobo to whoopee pies-- might be. It feels slightly stalker-ish except they want you to know where they are. I don’t know why I bother trying to figure out where they are (the thrill of the hunt?) when there are so many brick and mortar places to try. My new favorite trawling spot for good eats is 24th Street from Mission to Hampshire. Serial food dating at its best.

Given that I am trawling solo for a few days, I decided to try out the places without plates. First, I went to Humphry Slocombe, the ice cream place that was profiled this past weekend in the New York Times Magazine. First, I gotta love a guy whose favorite flavors are salt, meat, and booze. Now there’s a manly palate! I had already had his signature “Secret Breakfast”—bourbon ice cream with cornflakes—and the fabulously balanced Vietnamese Coffee. But I had to try “Elvis: The Fat Years.” The guy wins for the best ice cream flavor name… EVER. (I bet Thomas Keller wishes he thought of that.) I want to go back to try the Peanut Curry, Peach Miso, and, perhaps, the lard caramels. (I apologize to any vegans who may be reading this blog…wait, if you’re a vegan, why are you reading this blog?) Then, this morning, after repeated viewings of their website, I went to Dynamo Donuts. Holy Yeast, Batman! I love when you bite into a sugar-dusted donut and you get the double crunch that comes from the sugar crystals and the lightly crisped dough. You release your bite and are rewarded with the springy texture and heady fragrance of a yeasty interior that is the hallmark of a perfectly raised donut. I bought one filled with dulce de leche and banana, which is basically tropical sexuality conceived as pastry filling.

I’ve got to take a rest after that donut. It was all too, uh, sensual. They say this dating thing is hard work. They’re not kidding.