First of all, my fucking car broke down today. That’s right. Just two weeks before I planned on selling it. I dropped it off at that place on 17th & Potrero and started the long, moping walk home. 

So sad… so hungry… I walked past the starbucks on Bryant. Dragging considerable ass, I half-heartedly scanned the menu in the window of some overpriced, sterile little lunch joint where everything is basically a fancy burger, but has at least one ingredient that I have never heard of in my whole entire life and is probably something suspect like seaweed.

By the time I got to Atlas Cafe, I was extra grumpy sauce. It was about 12:30 and I hadn’t even had any coffee yet. I was one big ball of first-world rage, but that was all about to change.

The lesbian chick behind the counter looked familiar. After some “do I know you” squinting, I identified her as a regular at the bar down the block from my house. Immediately I knew this woman could be trusted to deliver me from hunger. When I asked her what was good, she asked if I wanted a meat sandwich and I nearly cried. Yes, I whispered, fighting back a sob of relief. The pulled pork sandwich is new, she gestured to an informative lamination on the counter. Say no more, you lunchtime Mother Theresa. You singing siren of savoriness. Pork me. Well, not pork me, but you know what I mean. Shuddup.

So. Let me tell you about this dream-wich. Boom. BBQ Pulled Pork. No BBQ sauce, which is great- really gives flavor of the pork a chance to shine! Then we have swiss cheese, a spicy pickled cabbage slaw kind of thing, mustard, and bacon on the most perfectly toasty chewy, crunchy, lightly dusted heaven roll.

Holy balls is right. Served with a piping cup of coffee with cream? Perfection.

Oh, so my car needs a tune up. $500. Let’s just call the amazing Atlas Pulled Pork Sandwich my consolation prize.