The Travelers’ Table

The Travelers’ Table admits “you have to travel a while to get to us.” They’re not kidding; the last mile is on a dirt road, forty minutes after getting off I-44 in Cuba.

Finally walking into this tiny labor of love produces an odd sensation.  There’s something strange about standing in a tiny farmhouse at the end of a very rural drive and seeing “banh mi” or “Hawaiian turkey burger” on the chalkboard of specials.   The Travelers’ Table is only open on weekends, and the menu changes week-to-week.  The resultant need to avoid waste can result in 86ings on Sundays; my favorite part of my last stop there was when a woman at the next table ordered meatloaf and German potato salad, and the server went into the kitchen, put in the order, came back out, and erased “MEATLOAF” and “GERMAN POTATO SALAD” from the blackboard.

(Runner-up fave: The gooey butter cake.)