Fried pickles

One of my favorite things about traveling is finding places that are totally intertwined with where they are. By that I mean the little hole in the wall places where you'll find the locals. It gives traveling a sense of place, if that makes any sense.
Most recently, this would mean a small restaurant/convenience store/gas station in rural West Virginia. Usually a place with that many slashes would make someone run in the other direction, but for me, they give a slice of life that can't be found by any other means.
After a weekend finding new ways to hurt oneself by way of snowboard, my traveling buddy Greg and I found ourselves on the road home through the hinterlands of West Virginia. Growing relentlessly hungry as the afternoon wore on, we stopped at the first place we found.
Long story short, any place that offers fried pickles is tops by me. Finding that place allowed time to slow somehow, and I didn't think of where I needed to be. I felt I actually was in West Virginia for a while.
The same thing happens whenever I go to Switzerland. Reality comes in stark relief when we go to the grocery store right after I arrive in order to get lunch. This has happened a few times...there's a grocery store within the airport/train station complex, so it's rather convenient.
There are many more places like this, but I may leave them for another post...