Phat Bob -- Pearl's Deluxe Burgers, San Francisco, CA
|Forget the Bridge -- Point Us Toward Your Closest Food|
|Consuming Multiple Bottles of This Little Delicacy on the Plane Is Somehow Keeping Us Awake|
|Half Pound Eaters Have to Enter Through the Side Door|
|We're Apparently Leaving Our Hearts and Our Self-Control in San Francisco|
|Trying to One-Up NYC's Prices, One Penny At a Time|
|We Best Get an Extra Penny's Worth of Fries, Lady|
|We Remain Irrationally Obsessed with "Free Water." This Is What Happens When Constantly Dehydrated by Booze|
|This Container Had to Be Refilled Minutes After We Left|
|So Essentially, We Like to Be Treated Like Toddlers|
|How Many Is One Topping Too Many?|
|Solid Work, Tenderloin. This Burger Almost Makes Up for Your Location|
|And When You Take Us Out of Our NYC Element, "Quite Pleased" Is Practically a Rave from Us|
|We Love a Twice-Fried Fry|
"We could take them with us," Vodka suggests.
"To eat when?" Ginger asks. "Have you seen our itinerary?"
"I just don't want to waste them," Vodka explains.
"That's a very bad attitude to have on this trip," Ginger says wisely, and against all of our better judgment, we head toward the trash can with the fry basket in hand.
Only in San Francisco, there is no such thing as a "trash can." Instead, there are "compost," recycling," and "waste" cans.
|Goodbye, Sweet Souls|
And naturally, this development makes us roll our eyes in a big way.
We stumble out of Pearl's and skedaddle back to our hotel
lickety-split, avoiding San Francisco's "welcoming committee" along
Market Street all the way.
And with that, we are off to the races
on our Northern California Best Thing I Ever Ate adventure: one day in,
one dish down, and one penny sacrificed in the name of phatness.
|Such Nonsense Almost Makes Us Want to Litter|
|Security Camera = Somehow Not Comforting|