Breakfast King is where we go when we need to commune with the food gods of our forefathers. We come here to be reminded of a simpler time when there was fine dining only on special days and diners for all the others. We come for the chicken-fried steak. At the King, the steak is crisp and wrinkly on the outside, like an old man left out in the sun too long, and tender within from a good pounding with the tenderizing mallet and a soaking in milk; its thick crust holds up even under the weight of a thick, peppery, artery-choking, Southern-style white sausage gravy. And while the chicken-fried steak is undeniably the star of this plate, it comes dotingly attended by two eggs and fresh home fries in munificent proportions.