You would think that, as a restaurant critic, I wouldn’t hear much from readers about city politics. But you’d be surprised. In response to what might seem like a normal review of a San Francisco restaurant, I often get missives from people who regret not being able to go because they’re terrified of the city that I live and work in. I’ve overheard Palo Alto, Los Gatos and Walnut Creek diners decry former District Attorney Chesa Boudin for doing everything short of personally breaking into houses with a crowbar. God forbid anyone brings up Oakland — it might as well be a bombed-out hole in the ground as far as these fantasies go.
Is there a starker, more dramatic image than French bulldogs gobbling up so much meth-laced fecal matter that they start jonesing for the drug themselves?