My friend Darrell Anderson went to heaven this week.  He was everyone’s friend.  He ran Thomas’s restaurant in Pryor.  Every trucker from Houston to St. Louis knew where to stop and eat.  They would park their trucks  across the highway and the railroad tracks and walk to the restaurant. 

He supervised his own beef.  And his steaks were memorable.  My favorite was the veggie plate.  He would include breaded tomatoes--which I have a weakness for.  The onion rings and homemade rolls were to die for.

I asked him why his breaded tomatoes were so much better than the ones that I cooked at home and he said, “Butter, Janie.  A stick of butter.”  And of course plenty of brown sugar.  

I never could match Darrell’s tomatoes, but mine got a lot better after he gave me his instructions.  Butter.  A stick of butter.  Not a pat.  A stick.

Everyone loved Darrell.  He was just a really kind soul.  And he fed mid-America every day for a zillion years.  Probably fifty at least.

Some people we miss because of what they added to our own lives.  Darrell was one of those people.  Rest in peace.