It’s tiny and stuffed to the gills with camp—greasy spoon, hair-of-the-dog camp. The kind of camp that doesn’t settle in until that steaming scramble with bacon or that short stack or plate of waffles is placed in front of you. Maybe stay away from the oatmeal, though. Like the striplings from Lake Woebegone, most of the dishes are above average.

You’ll find eggs—sunny side or over easy—that run with the best of them. Gold’s cheeseburgers can be killer when the griddle is tuned and spot on. Fantastic onion rings. Coffee has that good strong morning punch that knocks the brain cobwebs loose if you don’t have too much buildup. The menu is posted on a 45-rpm vinyl record replica. And everything is cheap. You can get your ribs good and stuck for under 7 bucks. If your head isn’t humin’ too bad when you squint to match the prices on that 45 with your billfold contents, that is.

Décor has the appropriate thematic reek: cheesy murals on the walls; faux brickwork on the section divider; cafeteria furnishings with splits and scuffs and abrasions. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t make much sense without curls of cigarette smoke hovering over the migas. But these are the mandated smokeless times in which we live.