Most nights I’m out, I have one goal — getting a burrito by the time the night is through.  There’s just something about that meaty, guacamole-y, floury goodness that seems to soak all the alcohol right up — or at least appease the hideous, hangry monster the alcohol has turned

Um.  There will be beef jerky here. If, for some inconceivable reason, you need more convincing than that to go to the third installment of the SF Underground Farmers Market on Saturday night, how ’bout I  add pulled pork, fried chicken and andouille sausage gumbo, foccacia, homemade fresh ginger beer, Hawaiian baked