Driving by Tartine, gazing at the inevitable line of people patiently lined up for their morning bun, I often wonder if people in San Francisco might actually revel in the whole waiting game. Whether we're on the sidewalk outside Mama's on a Sunday, biding our time in the Bi-Rite Creamery queue or salivating at the aroma of porchetta wafting our way at the Roli Roti truck, I think there's something to the anticipation—maybe even the just slightly degrading act of almost begging for your food—that might make it taste all the better. (I mean, imagine the frenzy if only Tartine pastry chef Liz Prueitt carried a bullwhip and wore leather.)