When I lived in Denver over the winter of 1987-88, y'all had a $4-all-you-can-eat deal, at least on Sundays; as a 22-year-old, I took full advantage. I have a lovely memory of sitting in your establishment for hours one sunny day, reading both the Denver Post and the Rocky Mountain News, while my plates piled up. Two teenagers had come in after I did, and they sat in the booth behind me; they ate while I ate. Eventually I heard them saying something to the effect of "We couldn't eat another bite" -- but when I turned and looked at their table, the stack of plates that the two of them had emptied did not measure as tall as my own. I sure couldn't do that anymore, but I feel gratitude all of these years later for the down-home and very tasty food that helped keep a marginally-employed young man nourished. Long may your neon sign glow!