So, the Old Gray Lady hauled out the printing press to publish a story about how "cool-hunting hipsters" love Valenica Street. Sure, it's a dated piece. Wildly so, it seems. The article goes on and on Valencia Street faves: terrorist hangout Ritual Coffee Roasters, the macabre plant/carcass retailer Paxton Gate, and the God-we-love-this-place-so-much-but-wish-half-of-you-who-go-there-would-head-to-Casanova-instead Amnesia.

But the Times article also mentions new-ish restaurant Spork, sits in the same building as the old KFC. Whimsically, the restaurant nods at the implements used by its former occupant, while only serving food that is financially out of reach for its former customers. Which? Makes us feel squeamish inside. Right or wrong, it just does. ("Spork turns out slow-food favorites like grass-fed beef burger ($14), Kona Kampachi sashimi ($13) and mussels and slow-roasted pork ($18)," NYT breathlessly reports.)

While the adoption of "comfort foods" is a pleasant (albeit increasingly twee) trend, and a nice break from more ambitious dining, when does that line go from nostalgic to camp to mockery of not just the food, but of the class that consumes it?