Lunch ennui, the real San Francisco treat

I’m dead serious—try working in Civic Center for seven years, you jump on anything that’s new just so as to wash the delicious boredom from you palate.  I know, we’re all up in our first-world concerns here. 

As much fun as it seems to ride down to the Design Center, it’s far easier to stalk some falafel a few steps from work.  Liba’s may be marginally healthier than my new crush, the month-old Little Saigon.  Service is slow, but only because they make their potstickers to order.  Are you going to rush genius when it’s freshly pan-fried?  I think not. 

In case you hadn’t noticed, I just neatly summed up the food cart thing.  We’re freakin’ bored with how good everything is, as San Franciscans we must up the ante by making it a sport: standing, chewing, trying to not dribble tahini or kimchi juice down the fronts of our coats.  This is why I only buy Belgian waffles when I’m wearing white: wind and powdered sugar makes it look like breakfast came straight off the mirror.