Today marks my fourth day in California (yay!) and we’ve already done so much. Before I tell you all about everything I’ve done here, let me first explain a little bit about my relationship with Drew. We’ve been friends since ninth grade, ever since he stalked me on Flickr and used one of my photos for his Art final (he got an A, but I don’t think he’s ever thanked me). We discovered that we both enjoyed the same pastimes: going to new places, making fun of strangers (sorry), and eating. Truly, we were meant to meet and grow fatter together. So now, almost eight years later, we have spent most of our friendship eating our way through all of the places we’ve gone. A few summers ago, we counted how many restaurants we had been to together. After hours, we finally reached a total of somewhere around two hundred fifty. By now, who knows how many its been? Going out to eat is our favorite (and probably our only) activity. So, why would California be any different?
The day I landed in San Diego, we decided to eat somewhere downtown because it was near the airport and I was starving. Naturally, we accidentally end up at some five-star restaurant with a server named Digeroberatro (or something like that) for lunch. If I could remember (or pronounce) the name of this place, I would tell you. After that debacle, we decided that we would stalk every single San Diego Foodie Instagram account we could find in order to ensure we ate the best meals possible the rest of the week. And that’s exactly what we did.
We began with ice cream, mostly because my bloodstream might as well be made of it by now, so it only makes sense. Drew had heard of a place called Hammond’s Ice Cream, a business owned by a couple who had fallen in love with this certain homemade ice cream while they were in Hawaii; so much so that they opened a restaurant that serves exactly that. There are over three hundred flavors… talk about overwhelming. What makes Hammond’s so unique, though, isn’t their ice cream imported from Hawaii, but how it’s served: in flights. I had only heard of a beer flight before, where you get a few different types of beer in small glasses to try. Picture this, but with miniature ice cream cones. This place was right up my alley. We split a flight of six mini cake cones, and swore the next time we went back we would order the flight of thirty-two. Stay tuned for the update about that, because it will likely happen this week.
The next morning, we tried our first #SanDiegoFoodie restaurant: The Great Maple, which definitely didn’t disappoint. We ordered three breakfasts, because obviously. Drew ordered some sort of hash on steroids, nothing like we were expecting, complete with whole sausages and potatoes. I ordered the Lolliwaffles, which are two big ass waffles on a stick that came with four dipping sauces. We also split silver dollar pancakes with peanut butter and fried banana. I’ve never paid so much for a breakfast in my life, and I have literally no regrets.
By the time we were done with our breakfast it was a little after noontime, so we went home and spent the rest of our afternoon at the beach. Because the walk home was so long, we felt it was necessary we stop for a snack. The Baked Bear had everything we were looking for: ice cream and cookies. All in one. This ice cream place will take any cookie or brownie you want, flatten it, warm it up, then make it into an ice cream sandwich. Apparently, this is a normal thing in California (meaning there are a lot of places like this, just in Pacific Beach alone). Because I was overcome with excitement, I had to get a cookie on the side just to try it, and let me tell you, that cinnamon roll cookie was the best cookie I’ve ever eaten in my life. Once we finally made it home after seventeen miles (okay, it was like one mile, but I was tired…), we showered and got ready for dinner. I’m assuming you understand the severity of our eating problem by now. While Drew went for a run, I stayed home and attempted the task he had assigned to me: finding the best cheap, good Italian restaurant in San Diego. This was much more difficult than I had ever imagined, considering there are about a thousand restaurants in San Diego’s Little Italy. I don’t know how we ever even picked one, but I haven’t had Moscato that good since I was in actual Italy. Although, the wine was almost ruined when the waiter asked me “how’s your wine?” and I said “thank you!” … I still hate myself for that one.
This brings us to Saturday, our day at the races. Because we knew we would be eating so much unhealthy food at the Del Mar Racetrack’s food truck festival, we had Jamba Juice smoothies for breakfast – which I absolutely was not complaining about, since there are no franchises near me, and I’m slightly obsessed. Once we arrived at the track, and I somehow mastered the art of wearing a floppy hat without it flying off my head, we made our way to the food trucks. Now, here I am, thinking I’m a food truck connoisseur because of how many different food trucks I’ve been to while working in Boston, but I thought wrong. There might have been a million. Okay, thirty was a more accurate number. Of course, our eyes gravitated toward the corn dog truck first. This was only the second corn dog I’ve had in my life, but I still proclaimed it the best in the world as I was eating it. As soon as we were finished with those, we shamelessly did another lap around the fair and ended up with buffalo chicken french fries. Safe to say we skipped dinner that night.
After the long day of eating and having no idea what the hell was going on at the horse races, we went to La Jolla Cove to see the seals. Two pieces of advice for anyone looking to visit La Jolla: give yourself an extra month for parking, because that’s basically how long it took us to find a spot, and bring a face mask because the seals smell putrid. Thankfully their cuteness was enough to mask the stench for me, but Drew didn’t exactly feel the same way. Somewhere along the walk to the cove, I stumbled upon an m&m covered caramel apple that was practically screaming buy me! eat me! so I had to oblige. Caramel apples are my guilty pleasure, and I don’t come across them very often. Again, no regrets.
Because we weren’t feeling so hot after we skipped breakfast yesterday, we knew today had to be different. Enter our next #SanDiegoFoodie find: Breakfast Republic. After stalking pictures tagged there on Instagram for probably twenty minutes, I was convinced this restaurant was going to satisfy every breakfast craving I’ve ever had, and I was right. I don’t know how this happened, but I suppose that us ordering three breakfasts is becoming a trend. Drew ordered a glorified Eggs Benedict, I ordered the breakfast bacon mac and cheese (eggs on top of bacon mac and cheese in a skillet, yum), and we split a flight of three different kinds of pancakes: Oreo, churro, and bacon. I think I’m still full.
So, it’s safe to say I’ll be returning home having gained roughly one hundred pounds. Stay tuned for more about San Diego (and how much food we’re eating)! XO