It seems it has a different kind of feel about breakfast in a small town. I have first observed it when I was first riding through Dunsmuir on a lovely morning when the air was chilly and the streets were nearly deserted. I was not particularly hungry, and I did it more or less on the side of curiosity. It was not only the food, but it was also the speed. No hustles, no bells, people just relaxing into the day.
I found myself sitting close to a window, as the people went falling in one after another. Others were obviously very familiar with one another, and nodded or exchanged a couple of words without straining. Some others were sitting and reading, or gazing out of the window on to the trees. It helped me understand the way breakfast places become unofficial community places. They do not concern impressing people. They have to do with familiarity and comfort, particularly in towns where the rhythm is somehow slower.
Further, when I later searched dunsmuir restaurants breakfast out of instinct, I realized the manner in which they were discussed on the internet. Not with words, but with recollections. One told about a pancake to go back to childhood. The other one I discussed was the stop after a long ride in the mountains. Such a feedback speaks louder than any description.
I believe that we undervalue the role of these places of everyday in our perception of the way we feel about a town. The first thing we do after waking up is our breakfast and the location of where we have it can unknowingly determine the mood of the rest of the day. There are mornings when it is better to be quiet and have coffee. Some demand dialogue and intimacy.
I have always remembered that stop in Dunsmuir, and when I consider it, I realize that even the most basic of pleasures are the ones that are most memorable, particularly when they are attained at least once with strangers.
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