Oh California.

 I don’t even know what to say. Do I laugh? Cry? Tease you?

Or do I jump in with glee? (my mug filled with blue bottle coffee and the sriracha mayo on everything)

 You, my friend, are serious about your pickles.

 Of, course, so am I.

 And the cynical New England in me, the one that knew that I’d be sitting in 2 feet of snow in 24 hours, could not help but laugh, and say, California!

Every Friday night at Fort Mason, there are food trucks. Lots of food trucks. It’s called Off the Grid.

It’s kind of like a Grateful Dead show, but for hipster foodies.

I was happy to play the part. If only for the fish tacos with pickled red onions.

And for pork buns with pickled daikon.

Oh, California. You and me, we go way back. And although you make me laugh and feel a bit silly about your best-of-all-possible-things-are-here ways, I’m always happy to come back to your kitchen.

Till next time, friend.