Homey

Generally, my route follows secondary highways and back roads. Passing through small and smaller towns, I don't expect gourmet food experiences. I'm not looking for anything fancy. My dream, on these back routes, is to find some hidden bakery or diner that serves simple, quality and maybe original fare. They are rare. Or if they exist, nobody knows about them or they're not telling. I ask and ask. I wander up side streets. Time after time, I cast my lot with another false hope. I pine for a homemade muffin or a fresh-baked sandwich. My cries echo back. Don't locals want something tasty? Best case scenario, they are cooking up delicious vittles in their homes. Worst case, they subsist on spam and crisco.

In Harrison, Arkansas, my dreams were fulfilled to overflowing. My road-weary hallucinations materialized. Homey Hearth, an Amish bakery, was closed Saturday and Sunday. I waited. Thick sliced roast beef on freshly baked bread. Peaches and cream pie. Then a slice of raspberry creme. All baked that morning. All served by motherly women in bonnets. Without tons of extra ingredients. Simple, direct and pure. And then a slice of black forest pie. Smooth layers of chocolate and cherries and cream on a crumbly crust. Original, powerful and tear-jerking. I let that digest. Then had a bowl of chili and bought some ginger cookies and a blueberry turnover for the road. Homey, I'm down.