I believe that the potatoes at Busters are perfect. I've had them three times. If you're ever there when they throw them into a metal bowl to mix in the salt, you can hear them clinking against the side of the bowl. They actually clink, because they are so crispy. When you get them on your plate, perfectly salted and still crispy, you get to try to figure out how to transfer them from your plate to your fork to your mouth, because they are such small perfect crisp little cubes. This difficulty may be a blessing in disguise, because you might not need to eat a full portion of those potatoes.
I believe that Busters onion rings took the Bandbox onion rings out back last weekend and kicked their asses. They still made Judy's stomach hurt, but they wouldn't be onion rings if they didn't. Fern, who hates onions, likes Buster's rings. Jimmy, who loves onions, does, too. Go figure.
I believe that going so far as to make homemade peanut butter and ketchup is just the kind of obsessive maneuver that separates Busters from the rest of the pack of breakfast joints. I'm not so sure that it makes that much of a difference in the particular (I'm no ketchup connoisseur to be sure, but I couldn't tell a difference between theirs and Heinz), but I am sure that that kind of attention to detail in general makes all the difference in the world.
I believe that you-all need to get your butts into those chairs at Busters. I keep going there for weekend brunch and having no trouble at all getting a table. If there were any fairness in the world, I'd have to sign up for a seat like you do at Hell's Kitchen or any of those Blue Plate restaurants on a weekend. Selfishly, I'd love to keep getting seated right away, but just as selfishly, I want them to keep thriving to make those potatoes another day.