Off The Eaten Path

April 1998

When you were growing up, wherever and whenever that may have been, there was a very special restaurant. Maybe it was the place your dad took you on a morning before your haircut, so he could slam another cup of coffee and chase away the last few fumes of the week. Maybe it was the family's favorite spot, the place where you learned about broasted chicken. Or, the one that made a cake that your mother swore tasted just like your great aunt Lucile's, God rest her soul.

Maybe it was nothing more than the town cafe.