shitbike fuels up at Devil’s Teeth


If you have yet to make it over to Devil’s Teeth Baking Company on the west side of the city, you need to make the trip! I was hesitant to make a morning out of getting to my coffee destination. When I am uncaffeinated I only function well enough to aim shitbike in the general direction i want to go and to pedal. So I act out that very description as i wobble through the Golden Gate Park down to 46th (yeah way out there) and Noriega (Nory-what? where am I?) to try what I have been told are the best pastries in the city.

You should know, I am very addicted to coffee. And not the blonde roast watered down vanilla shit you get at starbucks, I’m talking about fresh, unadulterated, black, jet-fuel. Half the reason i rode all the way down there was because this place brews Bicycle Coffee Co. beans. Bicycle Coffee is not only the best coffee I have ever had, time after time, but it is also my favorite brew for very obvious reasons. The guys who started this company still deliver to their shops, on bike, rain or shine. Thats the kind of company I like to support. If the prospect of great pastries wasn’t enough, knowing my jet fuel would be served in proper form definitely didn’t hurt the idea.

So I make a left on Noriega and see a crowd of people sitting, sipping coffee and watching a violinist hammer out some folk tunes near a store front. Thinking of a plan-b in case this was some type of west-side church service I wasn’t invited to, I slowly creep up on the impromptu stage. Thankfully, most of the would-be cult members were just people waiting in line to get in the completely packed space called Devil’s Teeth Bakery. I was in the right place, so I join the crowd and scoot forward little by little until i am finally at the bar.

A happy little man greets me and asks if i would like any coffee, I take two. Then its on the the high paced food ordering line. I get a little flustered and shoot within my comfort zone. “A strawberry banana muffin and a breakfast sandwich, yeah that sounds good.” Another suspiciously happy employee hands me my muffin and I am directed to the third smiling face. This place is ridiculously happy, and it’s genuine too. I’m bracing for the number that is about to come out of the cashier’s mouth when I am pleasantly surprised for the words “twelve” and “fifty”. Not too bad for a place with a reputation.

I excited to taste this talked-up piece of fluff, and take a giant bite out of it before reaching my seat. It’s as amazing as expected. I’m not going to go all food-critic on you, but this little muffin alone is enough to motivate my return visit. A couple bites, a couple swigs of Bicycle Coffee and I am close to nirvana. Then I hear my name above the noise, somebody calling to tell me there is more food for me to eat. I forgot about the sandwich. I unwrap a simple foil to reveal a handmade masterpiece of eggs, bacon and cheese on a muffin the size of texas. It was all the best savory breakfast foods you have ever had, packed into one sandwich. Good from a to z, I finished it faster than the muffin.

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This cruise was a simple one, nothing to epic or visual, but certainly as amazing as any other ride. I adventured out of my known area in the city, mustered enough courage to approach a cult service, and ate a breakfast for kings. I can’t ask anything more out of a simple Sunday morning.


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