San Francisco, city of excess

This, for me, would be the perfect day in San Francisco: brunch at Mama's in Little Italy. Pancakes:
Corned beef hash, eggs over easy:

Pan Dore (french toast w/ apple and a light lemon custard):

After that I'd recommend lying on your side for a few hours panting for breath and sweating profusely before heading over to the the Lower Haight for beer and hotdogs. The Toronado styles itself as a heavy duty beer pub and, as we're in America, this means you're in for some pretty heavy duty beer.
Not much under 7-8% on offer here and most of it dangerously drinkable: the only concession to common sense seems to be putting beers over 9% in a slightly smaller glass. I would recommend the Prohibition Big Daddy IPA, Bear Republic Racer 5, arguing with strangers about ice cream, becoming dizzy and outlining, once again, the perils of underestimating Portugal's ambitions on the world stage.
Fortunately next door is the Rosamunde sausage grill where men in their early thirties with tattoos and obscure band T-shirst will grill sausages and sell them too you in a bun in a manner that makes clear that, despite what one may think, you are the loser and they are, frankly, the all seeing eye at the centre of the hip universe - quite an achievement with a tong-full of saurkraut in your hand. Cracking knockwurst though:

Sorry veggies. Anyway after all this you're probably a little peckish: I'd recommend wandering down the hill to the mission district for a burrito or Mexican food tube. Be sure to point at your mouth at all times to avoid looking like a total idiot.

After this I would recommend a few weeks of brown rice, poached fish and lightly steamed vegetables. Or a trip to Las Vegas.