I swung into John O’ Groats after way too long of an absence and immediately questioned all my life choices, because why did I ever stop coming here? Before I could even get my bearings, Paul—the owner, resident sunshine dispenser, and unofficial breakfast hype-man—greeted us like we were long-lost cousins. Instant cozy points.

The place looks like the farmhouse kitchen of someone who knows how to bake pie and solve mysteries: sunflowers on the tables, blue-and-white checkered tablecloths, charming white chairs, and a menu so big it should come with its own bookmark. I love a menu that forces me to procrastinate—everything sounds amazing and you hate yourself for having to choose.

Eventually I locked eyes with the Corned Beef Hash topped with over-hard eggs, and let me tell you, those eggs had their act together. The hash was so perfectly crisped it should have been announced by a brass band. Then Paul casually brings over a Blueberry/White Chocolate Biscuit—because apparently self-restraint is for other people—and I somehow also inhaled two Bacon Cheddar biscuits. Zero regrets, only serotonin.

My friend ordered the 2+2+2 situation: egg whites, bacon, pancakes. It looked like a balanced breakfast for someone who actually reads nutrition labels, but it also tasted like joy.

I also come here for lunch, but now I fear I may never leave. See you next week, John O’ Groats, because at this point I’m emotionally attached and you can’t stop me. Thanks for making breakfast feel like home—if home had better biscuits and a friendlier host.