Daily writing prompt

What is your favorite restaurant?

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My favorite restaurant isn’t defined by cuisine or white tablecloths—it’s defined by craving.

And not just for food.

It’s the kind of place where, the moment I walk in, someone nods like we’ve done this dance before.

Where the vibe wraps around you like a warm tortilla.

Yes—like I’ve got a date with destiny.

It starts subtle.

Just a whisper in my stomach that turns into a clock-watching obsession.

Not frantic. Not rushed.

But I’m striding with purpose—long, calculated steps to the car, doing the mental math of traffic lights and express lanes.

See, my favorite restaurant could be over an hour away.

And in Houston, that’s a generous estimate, depending on whether the city’s six million drivers woke up with grace… or chaos.

So yes, I weigh my options.

The toll road? Maybe.

The HOV lane with no copilot?

Well…

Do all my personalities count as a carpool? I think they should.

Because this craving isn’t casual.

It’s sacred.

I arrive—finally—after praying away a ticket and thanking the Lord for a smooth ride.

And then—five feet in—I get that smile.

Not the forced kind.

The real kind.

The kind that says: We’re glad you came back.

They don’t ask for my name.

They ask if I’ll be having the usual.

And I always say yes.

That’s the magic.

That’s the meal before the meal.

Because when service becomes an attitude—not a department—

you taste it in the food.

You feel it in the room.

And you carry it home in your soul.

That, my friend, is my favorite restaurant.

And I’d drive every illegal mile to feel that kind of welcome again.