The neatly handwritten chalkboard sign at the health-food eatery in San Francisco not only said it all, it said too much:
“Organic. Plant Based. Whole Foods. No Gluten. No GMOs. No Dairy. Good Fat. Good Sugar. Delicious Food. No Kidding.”
San Francisco, you shouldn’t have to try so hard.
My on-and-off love affair with the City (yes, the locals capitalize the “C,” which merely reinforces its sometimes elitist reputation) began as a 16-year-old on a family trip with my parents. It took its most recent turn on a last-minute trek with my wife and kids over Thanksgiving week.