We've passed up Telluride and the delights of its jewel-like alpine setting in favor of dusty Farmington and the expectation of a great meal. Inside, the young woman who takes payment for our fuel is as dismayed as we are; everybody loved Seņor Pepper's. It had great food; it had live entertainment on the weekends; it was cheap. On weekends pilots would fly in from hundreds of miles around just for lunch. We spot a menu discarded with extreme prejudice in a trash can behind the counter. May we have it? Yes: she's only too happy to get it out of her sight. So, what's for dinner? What does it matter: Seņor Pepper's is closed.