This corner spot never leaves my thoughts. I have spent years telling friends that the best breakfast in Arkansas isn’t found in a modern hotel.
Walking through the front door, the air smells like rendered bacon and dark roast coffee. The high ceilings and heavy wooden booths still hold a steady, comforting hum of conversation.
People have gathered here since the early nineteen hundreds to share stories and hot plates. I usually grab a table near the front to watch the morning light hit the courthouse windows…