I'm of the opinion that avocado toast is one of the world's most perfect foods, and that there's very little you can or should do to improve upon it. Unless, that is, you're Foreign Cinema, and plop a fat, salty little sardine on top of it, along with a scattering of feta and sweet-hot pepper relish. Then, avocado toast morphs into something rather extraordinary, a three-bite master's thesis in the complex nuances that underlie simple pleasures, or how the rise of civilization can (at least in my mind) be traced directly to humanity's ability to pile delicious things on top of toast.
Arriving at Ramen Shop at 4pm on a Sunday has its advantages, chief of which is that you tend to get seated right away and, without much fanfare, get your hands on a rough-hewn bowl piled to the brim with steaming-hot noodles. I'm a big fan of the veggie shoyu Meyer lemon variety, which is less a bowl of ramen than a facsimile of those horns-of-plenty you always see in olden-days representations of Thanksgiving: big, fat maitake and King oyster mushrooms, creamy roasted Honeynut squash, broccolini, pickled turnips, spicy peppercress, and a very Bay Area Meyer lemon confit. And that beautiful, bone-warming broth. There's not much that one can say after downing the whole thing except say hallelujah and then take a nap.
While I'm a big fan of chewing, every so often I find myself voluntarily sucking down bottles of pulverized vegetation from Pressed Juicery. I found myself doing this yesterday after buying their Brazil Nut blend, a pale green conglomerations of kale, spinach, romaine, dates, vanilla bean, and yes, Brazil nuts. It looked almost off-puttingly wholesome but was actually creamy, sweet, and rather delicious. I'm not ashamed to say I'd drink it again, in public in broad daylight and everything.