Racing down the endless Midwestern interstate, in need of a refill for my car and myself, I took an exit marked simply “Mayfield.” A right turn off the ramp and I was quickly surrounded by chain restaurants and big box stores, so I kept going – until I found myself on a classic American Main Street, a slice of suburbia time apparently forgot.

There, past Ben’s Barber Shop (not stylist), the Sit ‘n Sip Soda Fountain and Tip Top Togs was the Mayfield Diner. The sign in the window said “Blue Plate Special: Mayfield Meatloaf.”

I sat on a stool at the counter, ordered the special – the most marvelous meatloaf – took one bite and thought, “Ah yes, this is why they call it comfort food.”