“Hope” is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops ... at all - Emily Dickenson

Thursday, October 2, 2008


For years the B & B Cafe was an Albert Lea institution. It was one of those places where people waited politely in line for the next booth or stool to open so they could sit down for good conversation and a hearty breakfast, anchored by Denny's famous pancakes. Normally, I don't eat pancakes, don't even particularly like them, but these were different, hitting your tongue with wave after wave of subtle favor - almost too good to swallow. Eventually Denny and Roxy retired to travel and play with their antique cars. At first things seemed almost the same at the B & B, but it slowly deteriorated, without the drive of the master of the cake, forever monitoring quality. Finally it all went to hell enough that the lines were gone and then regulars wandered off to find other restaurants. This evening Denny called, inviting us over to his house for breakfast Saturday morning. Now I consider breakfast with the Brues quite an honor. In the words of that great, world class gourmand, Homer Simpson,"Ummmmm. pancakes!"

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