I go to Playa Azul
You know I dance like a fool
And then I drink and then I pass out
In a puddle of drool

Playa Azul is a restaurant on Mission street, about a 10-15 minute walk from my house. It specializes in mariscos, including a yummy seafood cocktail and their signature nachos with crab meat and melted cheese on a bed of ceviche. They also have a full bar.

Despite the allure of these dishes, I usually go there for breakfast and order my usual huevos rancheros, served with rice, beans, and plenty of jalapeños in the sauce. It’s a little early to do any drinking so perhaps the above ditty I penned in honor of the place is a bit misleading. Going there is one of life’s joys though, even if I limit myself to coffee and food.

Since breakfast is the most important meal of the day (or so I’m told), I should, as a good nutritional citizen, get comparably excited every morning. But let’s face it. The pastry out of the vending machine or bagel I eat most mornings just isn’t going to get the same reaction. The same goes for bigger meals. A “Grand Slam” at Denny’s, while filling, is really nothing to get worked up about.

Not everybody shares my love for desayuno dyspeptico and that’s fine. There are plenty of breakfast options in San Francisco. We are not limited to Denny’s or iHop. Every time I waddle home from Playa Azul chewing antacid tablets and clutching my gut, I feel blessed to live in a town that has something more to offer than strip-mall America.