Since we live upstairs from a good restauraunt, we've dined there many times and love their food. The mandatory 90 minute wait? Yeah, I could skip that. But the food's outstanding.
Hold that thought.
Last night Rebecca and I couldn't sleep because of a horrendous, murderous noise all night long. Imagine a bloodcurdling noise that is a cross between fingernails on a chalkboard and a small girl possessed by lucifer clawing her own eyes out while shrieking her throat bloody. Sweet dreams.
The noise made a wonderful reappearance during my work day today, so I crawled up on the roof to see what the hell was going on.
(Note that in the video I name the restaurant. Turns out it's not their deck - see footnote below)
OK, so they have a hog or something on their back deck, knocking their flower pots over, rooting for truffles or whatever.
I check out the latest menu.
June 7: This was to make you laugh, because we wanted to cry. As it turns out, we were informed later that the deck and pet pig are not owned by the restaurant. While it is clearly the notion I comically suggest, I have to say that if you concluded they were raising, slaughtering, and butchering their own swine in the middle of SF, I'd call you an idiot. Now, let's move along. I smell bacon.