Tonight we went to Lambert's Cafe, Home of The Throwed Rolls, outside of Springfield, Missouri. I've never eaten any place quite like this. (Well, at least not since the last time I ate there.) Lambert's has all the normal southern fare you'd expect--chicken fried steak, liver and onions, chicken and dumplings, country ham, fried chicken and the likes. You can pretty much feel your arteries start to clog when you come in the front door, and when you first sit down, you grab a brown paper towel from the center of the table and put it in front of you. The servers come around with a huge bowl of fried okra and spoon it on to the towels. Next they deliver the 64oz fountain drinks and then the best part--handsome young men come from the kitchen wheeling carts of straight-from-the-oven rolls. They navigate up and down the aisles yelling, "Hot rolls! Hot rolls!" If you hold your hand up or even make eye contact, they throw a piping hot biscuit to you. Fan. tas. tic. What a way to get your carbs for the day. I took twelve pictures of the bun guys, ordered fried chicken gizzards, and ate what felt like 42 hot dinner rolls. I tried to buy The Pastor a souvenir T-shirt in the gift shop that said "Hot Buns" across the front of it, but he refused. That's what I call a vacation.