Folks around these parts call it the Commissary… which is what it’s always been. Before 1948, farmers and their families would come to the commissary to purchase staples, trade, sell crops and gather to share news and enjoy a bite. Though not really a restaurant in those days, there was always something to eat readily available at the counter, such as jerky or colas or fried pies.
You order at the counter, and then go claim a table and get the condiments you want. The folks running the place will call your name when your food is ready, and you go get it – and you eat it at a table in the middle of a room running every sort of business around its edges – grocery store, apparel shop, post office, community center – and at one time, even a bank.
The conversations can get loud but never mean, and the clientele comes from every walk of life out there.
Arkansas Pie, but I will mention it again.
On any given day, there are coconut and chocolate meringue pies. Some days there will be peach pie, others strawberry (topped with whipped cream) and really, it’s whatever is available at the time.