Or pork cracklin. Well, we might have pork cracklin. I don’t actually know if Winter Park has pork cracklin because before Saturday morning, I’d never tasted pork cracklin. Now, though, I totally understand why there is an entire Network dedicated to Food and I firmly believe pork cracklin should have its own show. I can’t say pork cracklin enough. It’s like I’m trying to resurrect those few, brief moments I had with pork craklin before it was gone. Pork cracklin, pork cracklin, pork cracklin. It’s not working.

Here’s LB’s sandwich. Notice his hand. If you had a sandwich with pork cracklin on it, you would feel possessive as well.

Here are our potatoes. They were also ridiculously good. Although they were not pork cracklin.

Here’s the truck where we bought our pork cracklin. Although it was a lot more full when we bought our pork cracklin. This is several hours later when I went back to visit.

Pork cracklin.

Our entire weekend wasn’t completely consumed by pork cracklin (officially). We also went to Mount Davidson and looked at some of the most amazing views I’ve seen of the city, we tooled around the Mission, we visited the ocean that I completely forgot we lived by (LB: That makes sense that you’d forget the entire Pacific Ocean.) and took a bunch of pictures, which I’d planned on posting here until I found this website and realized my photos of San Francisco are like overcooked bacon to Caliber’s pork cracklin.

So, I went out and did something that I’ve wanted to do for the last month and haven’t made the time for – I went out for pizza. Okay, so it’s not the skydiving or learning to pole dance you had perhaps anticipated (I have a whole year here, folks) but it was fantastic.  Now, pizza probably doesn’t seem like such a big deal but, around here, it is. In February, I had to go gluten-free so cakes, cookies, cereal and pizza are off-limits, which you’d think would be a big deal but, since I feel so much better, is not.

But there are two things I miss. Desperately. The first one: Count Chocula cereal. I actually teared up (teared up!) in Target the other day when I realized this Halloween I can’t eat it. And, unfortunately for me and the Target clerk who shared my very uncomfortable moment, I’m not exaggerating. The other one: pizza. Mainly, because most gluten-free pizza is made from cardboard.

You can imagine our excitement then when we found this awesome place here in San Fran, Amici’s that has gluten-free pizza that actually tastes like real pizza. Well, I think it does. LB nodded and called it “very real-ish” with that look he gives me when he’s “humoring” me and then didn’t take me up on my very generous offer to share my pizza, an act which you have to admit pretty much makes me a shoo-in for The Best Wife Ever Award since we only go for pizza once every two months, at the most, and I think about that pizza all of the time, yet I was still willing to offer my husband some. Off of my plate. God, I’m going to be such a fantastic mother.

So, I went out on the town and treated myself to pizza. And guess what? When I got home, all of those to dos were still waiting for me. Imagine that.