In S.F., brunching is more than a leisurely nosh — it’s a full-fledged competitive sport. The lines, hunger pangs, hipper-than-thou restaurants all make for one craving-fueled excursion, and we’re eager to eat it all up every Sunday morning. And, while you wouldn’t think rolling out of bed to chow down on a plate of eggs Benedict would evoke standout style choices, we knew patrolling S.F.’s shiniest brunch beacons would come up roses — even amid the yoga pants and bubble vests.
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