I do everything all the time forever: I Went To Breakfast

By Clinton Avery Tharp

My consistently inconsistent sleep schedule found me awake at 4 A.M. staging the surface of an antique chest of drawers. My dusty collection of amber colored corked bottles along with a few other quirky knick knacks completed the saloon-like display just in time for breakfast. I had been listening to outlaw country music to set the tone for the task and in turn, it set the tone for breakfast. Jeff's Country Cafe was the obvious answer to the inquisitive sounds of my growling belly. I set out on my bicycle through the cool breeze of the magic hour morning. 

Walking into Jeff's is probably reminiscent of walking into a diner in the panhandle of Texas in 1981.  I picked up a local gazette and sat myself in an old wooden booth on the window side of the semi-shabby yet novel building. Jeff's has a smoking section, which is nearly unheard of these days, on the opposite side of the restaurant through a dark wooden door with a circular window. Sometimes I'll sit in that hazy room even though I don't smoke just to hear the current political opinions of the rowdy bunch of weathered faced regulars and to admire the resin covered rock wall that climbs the south interior. However, today I just wanted to have a quick breakfast with a couple cups of coffee and concise statements to my soft spoken and kind waitress. 

The menu is simple with all the goodies to be expected of a typical diner and with a few surprises that are a little less ordinary. I ordered Jeff's Country Scramble. It's biscuits and gravy with scrambled eggs infused with a choice of meat in which my case is usually sausage. This entire spread of cliche breakfast madness costs a whole five dollars. However, sometimes, I'll get the half order for a mere $2.50 and shamelessly pound coffee until my hands quiver. 

Jeff's isn't the kind of place where you bring your laptop or schedule a meeting unless the meeting has to do with hunting and fishing and your laptop is actually a couple manilla folders. It's a country cafe and its patrons help keep it that way. The prices are cheap and the cooks have mastered the basics of breakfast and the middle aged or older squad of waitresses deliver quick and solid service every time. 

After the waitress took my plate, I finished my last cup of coffee and guzzled down my water then happily laid eight bucks down by the front register and nodded my way out. Nostalgic Hank Williams melodies crowded my head as I biked home in the surprisingly cool, Oklahoma morning.