To Pennsylvania, friedwise
Next morning, to fuel us up for the long drive back to California, friend Sue drove us to D.W. Moss's farmhouse, which is your typical off-the-grid middle-of-nowhere suspender-grandpa'd dirt-road no-menu pay-what-you-want weekend breakfast joint, with sausage and bacon that taste like they just went out back and scraped it off the pig. It's not a restaurant. It's my new favorite restaurant.
Seriously, if you ever accidentally find yourself out Benton way, Pennsylvania, of a weekend morning, go find Moss's farm. It's on Moss road. Look for cars and kittens.