This weekend, I find myself living the life of a traveling salesman, right here in my own city. I am living out of a hotel room, and eating Sunday breakfast in the hotel family restaurant.

It’s a Perkins chain, although this in the only one I know of in this area. It seems more an American chain.

Just sitting here, taking in the atmosphere of the loud Sunday morning family crowd, memories of America and driving trips with my parents and grandparents flow back to me.

Everything about it cries American to me. The front cash counter, with a glass display cabinet filled with pies reminds me of the old Howard Johnson, without the orange.  The coffee cups on my table are identical to every family restaurant I’ve ever been in, and the noise they make as patrons stir their packets of non dairy cream onto them can be heard from almost every table in the place.

A quick look around the place, and I see a wide variety of families, each making their own unique memories.The menu arrives, and is exactly as expected. A multi-page, stapled, plastic laminated glossy, photo filled picture menu starting with breakfast dishes that look so amazing on the page.


I order what I always order in places like this. Denny’s calls it the grand slam, and at Perkins, it is – for unknown reasons, known as the fantastic 12, or something similar.  The value for food ratio is high. I choose scrambled eggs, sausages, square potato cubes and pancakes, and four of each arrive… Oh.  12.It is far more than I should eat, and a lite more than I can eat, and at the end, more than I should have eaten, but the quality and taste was amazing, especially for $10.99I understand why it is so busy, and begin to realize the crowds are probably equal parts tourist and locals. As pretty and “Jeff friendly” as the easily viewable desert options are, I can’t indulge further. I left 2 full pancakes behind already. I will come again.

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