I discovered this year, while training for my first marathon, that the best way to mentally get myself through the last few miles of a hard training session was to picture an icy fountain Coke at the end. Something about the cold, the caffeine, or the sugar (or perhaps all of the above) really gave my spirits the extra lift I needed.
This Saturday I woke up with a deep and mismatched craving for both the fountain soda as well as a big plate of eggs. Odd, I know, but the only place to go was St Francis Fountain, who satisfied on all fronts.
We were early enough to get seats pretty quickly at the counter, a prime position for quick soda refills. I loved the striped straws just as much as the red plastic cups. I had my eggs scrambled with avocado, cilantro, cheddar cheese and salsa, and appreciated the sourdough toast alongside - not too toasted, not too buttered, but a perfect crunchy, golden accompaniment to my breakfast.
I wish the St Francis were my little secret, but judging from the perpetual line of hipsters out front ... it isn't. Oh well, like I said, sometimes only a fountain Coke will do!
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