I briefly lived on the West Coast in my long-ago and largely mis-spent youth.  My most notable encounter with food out there was when a cabbage rolled off a produce truck, bounced on the road, and punched a hole through the grill of my Buick. Mechanics at a Bay Area GM dealership combed the slaw out of my radiator, but said it would take a few weeks to get a replacement grill shipped out from Flint.  I said never mind.  The Buick and I would just head home. If the Bacon Bacon Truck had … [Read more...]