My Labor Day weekend had very little to do with labor, and everything to do with long days of wandering, writing, and eating. Three lethargic days showing inquisitive and delightful Anthony around the city, and time elevating my knee, cursing my clumsiness, and trying not to cry whenever the thought of not being able to run the marathon crept into my mind. On Saturday morning, I tripped and fell while running, landed directly on my knee, and it hasn't been reacting well. It doesn't really bend. I can't stand for a long period of time, so going to the grocery store or cooking hasn't sounded like much fun. A good excuse to eat out. A lot. So on Saturday morning (post-pavement encounter), Linnea, Anthony and I all piled into the car and headed over to the Dogpatch, fast becoming my new favorite neighborhood in SF. It was once the industrial center of town (if you could call it a "center" of anything), and much industry still remains. It's gritty, it's often sunny when the rest of the city isn't, there are big deserted lots, sweet hidden galleries, independent jewelers and furniture designers, and lunch windows serving out of loading docks. It's got spunk. And it's got Serpentine, a corner restaurant on 3rd, touting "honest food and classic cocktails." And a damn fine brunch.