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As a child, my grandparents' farm was my favorite place on earth. It was a magical place where baby cows were bottle-fed and chickens hatched before my eyes in incubators. But as much as I loved marveling at all the life buzzing on the farm, there were other better perks of staying there. My grandmother would let me sleep in until noon and, somehow, breakfast was always ready and piping hot when I woke up. I remember sitting cross-legged at her kitchen table in front of a plateful of eggs over easy, bacon, fried potatoes, sliced tomatoes from the garden, and made-from-scratch buttermilk biscuits. The recipe is simple, but as delicious as it is humble.