My 27th birthday was last week, and for me that was an excuse to embark on a week of gluttonous escapades. A couple days before my actual birthday, Cory was going to surprise me with something. Unfortunately, I guessed what it was pretty quickly once he gave me a hint:
“Look deep into your heart and you’ll know the answer.”
“You’re gonna buy me a CINNAMON BUN!”
It was an easy guess. When we were shopping for groceries, I was gazing longingly at the cinnamon buns next to the checkout. Once we arrived home, Cory was yelping it up and wouldn’t tell me what he was looking at. Turns out, he was indeed on a quest for the finest cinnamon bun in San Francisco.
So we went to Jane on Fillmore. We walked the nearly two miles there, partly because San Francisco public transit sucks and partly because it made me feel better about eating a cinnamon bun larger than my face. There were only three cinnamon buns left when we arrived and I ordered two (one to go). The guy behind the counter gave me an “are you sure?” look when I ordered two. Hell yeah, I was sure! I figured if I’m going to eat one of the best cinnamon buns SF has to offer, I may as well OD on one.
See this photo? Those are the cinnamon buns in the back, blanketed with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting. Heaven. Cinnamon buns aren’t a part of my weekly or monthly diet, so of course it was the best cinnamon bun I’ve ever had.
For some strange reason, I also ordered a bowl of their homemade granola with yogurt and fruit. I’m sure it was delicious. By the time it made it to our table, I was already in a cinnamon bun heaven and ready to unbutton my pants. I managed to soldier on and finish much of the fruit bowl out of guilt, but my taste buds were numb after the cinnamon bun sugar explosion.
On the actual day of my birthday, we went to Brenda’s French Soul Food for breakfast (beignets! chicory coffee! watermelon tea!) and Farmerbrown for dinner (fried chicken! mac ‘n cheese! kale! mint julep!). Between meals, we boarded a cable car on Van Ness and California to Nob Hill.
It was my first time on a cable car – and yes, I’ve lived here for over three years now!
We spent much of the afternoon scoping out Nob Hill, a neighborhood where the rich elite built their mansions in the 19th century. It’s still pretty ritzy, and it’s the neighborhood Cory and I want to move to this fall. I very much fancy the idea of living in “old San Francisco”, walking to work, being close to Chinatown (cheap produce), and being within short walking distance to the Tenderloin (a neighborhood with a bad reputation, but home to my favorite restaurants).
I’ve been monitoring apartment listings like a hawk, and I’m hoping that we’ll be able to find a quaint little place (we don’t need more than 500 sq feet) within our budget that allows dogs. Our future dog is going to have a blast sniffing and pooping in Huntington Park. Next step? Telling our current landlord we plan on leaving, and making the move a reality…