The Diner.

March 31, 2017.

I needed to take the car in for an oil change this morning and I had extra time so I stopped at the nearby diner for breakfast which is a real treat because I haven't had an egg in like, 3 months.  Not that I have anything against eggs.  Or chickens.  I'm just watching my cholesterol levels, ya'll. 

So, I bellied up to the farthest corner of the diner in 'the loser section' because that is where the waitresses seat the scruffy people who look like they can't afford an egg.  Perhaps I should've brushed my hair better.  I had a lovely, panoramic view of the parking lot. The Eagles were playing 'Desperado' on the radio.  
I felt right at home.  

The coffee was hot and heavy and I swear they had a camera on me because they kept coming to refill my mug after every few sips.  Or maybe they just wanted me outta there.  The waitress was adorable. In true Southern style, she called me Sugar, Honey, Dahlin' and Sweetie.  And she really meant it.  I know she did.

They wanna fill you up at diners, so the lovely charming waitress clad in a gingham apron immediately brought me a piping hot freshly baked biscuit the size of a tom cat's head with a side of outstanding homemade apple butter.  Mmmm Mmmmm.  I snarfed down the bottom half and thought, "Uh Oh.  I'm full".  Then she arrived with 2 eggs, potatoes and bacon.  And. Another freshly baked biscuit. And a bowl of something I didn't recognize. I didn't order that.  She looked a little concerned about my mental state when I asked what it was.  "Why, that's gravy, Hon".  Gravy. Southern style pork sausage gravy for the biscuit.  People go crazy about Southern gravy here but I couldn't eat much so I had to pass.  Two of these monster biscuits and that slug of gorgeous gravy could feed a family of four. I felt embarrassed about leaving it all but I couldn't fit it in my purse.



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