San Francisco often seems like the antithesis of “middle America.” What with cable cars, gay marriage, crazy left wing politicians and cold fog in the summer, sometimes I feel like I’m on a different planet. Add to that the fact that I live and work in town and rarely leave the city limits, and it’s an isolated world view indeed.

But today when I was at the Pride Festival, I noticed that as weird and bizarre and ”different” as it often is here, we are just like the rest of the country when it comes to junk food. Here in the heart of the city on one of the biggest festival days of the year, there wasn’t a vegetable in sight. At least not a vegetable that wasn’t covered in cheese or batter.

Although there were plenty of “ethnic cuisines” on tap, pretty much everything was slathered with grease and/or deep-fried to a fare thee well. I had a little bit of money with me and was considering getting something to eat, but the only thing that looked even remotely calorie friendly were the It’s It ice cream bars.

I enjoyed the people-watching, but the food-watching wasn’t worth it. In the end, the crowds and the smoke from the grills and the noise from the soundstages was a little too much for me. So I left people to their hot dogs and cotton candy and their burgers and, yes, to their deep fried twinkies.