We ate San Francisco

I knew that the food would be brilliant in San Francisco. Especially when I learned that there was a restaurant that specializes in Creole Soul Food – Brenda’s. But nobody told me about the Mexican delights of the Mission District or the burger heaven that is The Burger Bar, located above Macy’s in Union Square, so they were great surprises. It’s a good thing the hills are aplenty in that gorgeous city because we needed to walk off a gazillion calories. I know we brought most of them home with us though. No matter, the experience was spectacular and I plan to do it all over again as soon as I’m able. The best part about traveling to me is the different cuisine you get to try and eat with reckless abandon because you are on vacation, which everyone knows is just another way of saying you’re living footloose and fancy free for a spell.

At Brenda’s I got the Hangtown Fry, which is eggs scrambled with oysters, bacon, and andouille sausage, a homemade biscuit, and hash potatoes, and my friend, Jamorra got a fried seafood basket. We both washed it all down with watermelon iced tea. And the jam for our biscuits tasted exactly like peach cobbler. I couldn’t stop smiling, I was in Hog Heaven. Oh, and we ordered a plate of the most delicious crawfish beignets! Oh, they were to die for! They are the reason why I want to make my next trip to New Orleans so that I can eat and try every beignet known to man, as well as learn (or try to learn) how to make them myself for those special occasions and emergency cravings. I want to be one of those people who are coveted for a specific culinary dish, like my mother is for her potato salad and deviled eggs, and my grandmother for her…well, everything. For every family gathering or holiday, I want my relatives and friends to ask me to make my special dish, whatever that turns out to be. Hopefully, it's crawfish beignets. Anyway, not only was all the food we ate absolutely delicious, we got hearty portions that neither of us could finish nor even really put a dent in. Oh, but I gave it a good try at Brenda’s and the only thing they took back to the kitchen was a few potatoes and a half eaten biscuit. In the Mission District, though, it was Woman vs Food and Food came out victorious L I don’t regret the challenge one bit, either – two cheesy chicken enchiladas, a side of chicken and 3 tortillas, and, on the other side of the plate, prawns, green onions and mushrooms, guacamole, with rice underneath.

The trip was perfect in every way. Our two friends who backed out on us at the last minute, decided it wouldn't be fair to stick Jamorra and me with the entire hotel bill, so they’re both pitching in (one has paid and the other has promised to do so tomorrow). But, as luck would have it, two other friends, along with one of their sons, met us on Saturday to hang out. After disembarking the BART, which we took from SFO to Union Square, we proceeded to walk a block down Powell Street in search of our hotel, dragging our luggage to the best of our ability on the graveling roads and sidewalks. I stopped dead in my tracks right in the intersection of Mason and Turk St.because the appearances of the people ahead of me had drastically changed from sane to insane.I feared we were venturing into the Tenderloin district, well-known for its unstable and violent inhabitants. “What are you stopping for!?” Jamorra yelled at me, not knowing about the Tenderloin. “You gotta cross the street, girl!” It’s funny to me now but then I was in fight or flight mode. We crossed the street and I spotted a couple of women who resembled hookers and asked them where the Hotel Nikko was. “Oh, yall balling!?” they asked us. “The Nikko is the shit! That’s where Lil Wayne and The Dodgers stay when they come to town. Aww shit! Yall some ballers, yall doing it big.” Jamorra is way more cordial and friendly than I am because as soon as they pointed out our hotel on the sane side of the block we’d almost passed, I smiled, thanked them and picked up the pace, while she tried to carry on a bit of a conversation trying to keep up with me. In another instance we were told by a DWP worker that the address of the bar/speakeasy we had made reservations at was in a crack alley in the Tenderloin. Jamorra still wanted to go. At night…in a damn cab! I vetoed that idea and we decided to spend the evening inUnion Square instead. I find nothing appealing about potential danger, especially the kind that involves darkness and crack fiends. And since three random people – two cab drivers and a man on the bus – told us to steer clear of the Tenderloin at all costs, especially after dark, I was okay with missing that reservation. The place doesn't allow picture taking inside, anyway. And speaking of picture taking, the pictures below are just a sampling of our trip but worth a thousand words, nonetheless.