Size doesn’t matter. At least, that’s what Georgia’s tiniest breakfast room is here to prove. I squeezed through a door barely wide enough for my elbows, expecting quaint vibes and polite biscuits.
What I got instead was a culinary mic drop. One bite of that buttery, fluffy, golden biscuit, and suddenly square footage didn’t mean a thing. This little kitchen doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t need neon signs or giant ovens. It whispers through layers of dough and butter, quietly confident, boldly delicious. I dove in, fork first, no apologies…