Do you like seafood? See. Food.

I mentioned previously how we indulged in some tasty grub while on vacation last weekend. Yes, I’m STILL talking about our fabulous, child-free trip that Chris and I took to Northern California. So all readers who only care about looking at cute pictures of my daughter’s cheeks and thunder thighs can just click off this screen now. Because while Taylor was playing at home with Grandma for five days, eating Dora snacks and watching Princess movies, her Momma and Daddy were frolicking through movie-like landscapes on the west coast, dancing with friends, drinking hand-crafted wine and eating some seriously delicious local cuisine. And I wonder why I now have muffin-top while wearing my shorts. I obviously didn’t boogie hard enough.

So on Friday night, while visiting with Robert, Emily and all of our friends at the couple’s rehearsal fiesta, Chris and I realized that we were only about a half hour from the coast. For some reason we thought we were a lot further and would be unable to see the Pacific during our romantical holiday. But we were wrong. And the next morning we jumped in our rental, winded through the mountains and ended up on the infamous Highway 1.

It had been ten years since I had seen the Pacific ocean, and I had forgotten how powerful it is compared to the Atlantic and Gulf Coast, both of which I have frequented during the last few years. The waves were enormous. It made me want to drive to Folly Beach, laugh at the surfers there and snicker, YOU call THOSE waves?

And after soaking my feet, we kicked the sand off our soles and continued to drive down the coast until we saw a sign for lunch and realized how hungry we were.

And you must remember that up until about eight months ago I was convinced I was deathly allergic to shellfish. And even since getting the clear for my allergist, I’ve still been hesitant to enjoy any crustacean delicacies. Until last weekend, when I housed a half-dozen barbequed oysters.

Chris’s Are-You-Kidding-Me-How-Good-These-Are?! face:

Our lunch was caught right here:

And after tasting fresh shellfish in all their glory, I was pretty pumped to check out Fisherman’s Wharf while we were staying in downtown San Francisco Sunday night. We were recommended to check that area out by quite a few people, and it was fun to roam with the masses in the tourist hotspot.

And since we were there, of course I had to order the local crab plate at dinner. Melted. In. My. Mouth.

Next time I'm served bruschetta and it doesn't have crabmeat in it, I just might have to spit it out in my napkin. It's like flying first-class and then being stuck in coach between two fat people who are each holding hysterical, ugly babies. I ruined myself.

After dinner we strolled across the street and bought Taylor’s weight’s worth in salt-water taffy for a coming-home present. Of which she’s only had two pieces of up to this afternoon. Mmmmm... Candy.

And if you need to find me the remainder of this month, I’ll either be running, at the Y, or eating sprouts. Swimsuit season is here, Taylor and I are gonna be lounging at the pool all summer, and I workout way too hard to not rock a bikini this summer. So unless you think my daughter’s cheeks are sweet enough to constitute as a delicious dessert, consider this my last post on food for the next few months. But even though I won’t be physically enjoying the rich treats I enjoyed last weekend, I’ll be dreaming about them. Thank you, California.