Luna Park

I felt silly hopping into a cab to take a short ride over to Luna Park to meet Shari and Kelly for brunch from my house. But I didn’t roll out of bed until a little after noon for a brunch date at 12:30. There was no way I was going to make it. But after a super quick shower and drying of my hair in a cab with windows rolled down, I made it there only half an hour late.

Kelly and Shari had gotten a nice spot near the window, where we could watch all the Valencia Street passersby in their Sunday hipster outfits, showing more skin than usual because of the unusual warmth. I felt underdressed in my summer dress, which incidentally, and rather embarrassingly, matched my glasses (being in the Mission almost inevitably brings on a strange inferiority-of-coolness complex). But, I got over it and ordered the meatiest sandwich on the menu.

I didn’t know what I was getting into when I told the waitress that I wanted the Autostrada. I was excited at the thought of having a pressed sandwich, something I don’t get the chance to order all too often. But, when it came—that sandwich filled with mortadella, hot coppa, salami, provolone, and pepperocini relish—it was stacked with layers and layers of meat. I took a bite and it was all meat. I don’t even know if there was bread on that sandwich, but there must have been. I had to work those teeth to chomp down into what seemed like a half foot high stack of meat. I finished the first half of the sandwich okay but the second half loomed ominously on my plate. How much more meat could I handle?

I took a few more bites when I had enough. It was too much meat. I opened up my monster meat sandwich, pulled off a few slices, and replaced the toasted bread top. That was much more of my style in terms of meat-to-bread ratio.