I love bread. Oftentimes, I’ll judge a restaurant not on the succulent steaks or creative ambiance, but simply on how well I liked the contents of the bread basket. For months now, my sis has waxed rhapsodical about the toast and homemade butter at Outerlands in the Outer Sunset district in San Francisco. So today, on her 29th birthday, we decided to brave the hour long wait and indulge in a mess of carbs! Once we scored a table, the overwhelming scent of baking bread was almost too much to handle, and we drooled over each plate coming out of the kitchen. Finally, our toast was delivered, and it was well worth the wait. Warm and soft on the inside, crusty brown on the outside, it was all we could do to refrain from eating piece after piece. The butter, easily spreadable with just the right hint of salt scored high on my checklist of what makes a restaurant rock. The rest of our meal was scrumptious, but it was the bread that was truly out of this world.