We went a long way out of our way to sample this one. But we were in no hurry, and it was well worth it.

The Corner Café


Lately between hectic times at work and betrayals in my personal life I’ve really stood in need of a vacation. But I’m not getting one in the near future. The next best thing is to go to my home town for a weekend with Mom and Dad. It’s not more time off (well really it is, since it means I’m at work five days that week, not six), but it gives a badly needed change of scene and pace. Mom and Dad have been wonderful.

This past Saturday we had fine clear weather. Mom wanted to go shopping in Hot Springs. Dad wanted to road-test an old van he is fixing up. I just went along. The drive through the foothills of the Ouachita Mountains was beautiful as always. Mom talked about her upcoming summer trip to Spain to study at the Colegio Mayor as a way of checking out summer programs for her college students. While she shopped at the mall, Dad and I checked out the bookstore there. I found three books in the bargain displays that would make good additions to the library and cost less than I could normally get them wholesale. Dad bought them for me as library donations.

On our way back we decided to take a long detour into Pike County. There is a tiny community there called Antoine. Antoine has only one eating establishment. But it has a regionally-known menu special that we wanted to try.

The Corner Café is located at a crossroads on the edge of town. It looks more like an unprepossessing old house than a restaurant. We got there a little before five, well before our or anyone else’s normal supper time. We were the only customers at the time.
Inside the little restaurant had what one might call a minimalist décor. There were enough plain vanilla tables and chairs to seat about thirty people in a pinch. There were no lights on; plenty of light came through the windows and the front screen door. On the wall were two large taxidermized bass. We took our seats at a three-seater table by a window beneath one of the bass.

The waitress took our orders and brought our tea and water. Dad and I ordered the house specialty—catfish and gator. Mom, less adventurous, just got the catfish.

While waiting for our meals, we admired the fish on the walls. An elderly woman off in a far corner—whether she was an off-duty member of the staff or just visiting I don’t know—observed that one can catch fish like that from the lake up near Mount Ida. We talked about fishing and the region’s state parks. She told us about the retirees from up north she has met who spend the whole winter in Arkansas, moving their campers from one park to another every two weeks and taking advantage of the low off-season camping fees. I suppose it is a cheap way to live, if one does not mind living in a camper during a (usually) mild Arkansas winter.

Mom, Dad, and I talked among ourselves as well. Mostly we discussed what we could observe through the windows. Across the road from the café sat the town’s general store. Two elders sat out in front on a bench, enjoying the mild early evening beneath cloudless skies. There was some coming and going across the street between store and café. Mostly they were young women running errands who seemed to know the workers at the restaurant.

Also across the road we saw a small church with a cemetery beside it. Dad told us about how he had heard from an acquaintance of his at work that the cemetery was quite old and had a lot of history. Now and then in our travels we take a look at such old graveyards and read what we can of the community’s history. Perhaps we will visit the one at Antoine some time when we are there again.

Traffic on the road was fairly light. We saw a couple of bikers riding by. We had been seeing them all day long, everywhere we went. It was a great weekend for it. At one point a vehicle pulling a pop-up camper stopped on the side of the road. We could see them consulting a map. Dad speculated as to which of the region’s state parks they might be headed. After a bit they backed the trailer around and turned down the intersecting highway toward Prescott. That puzzled Dad a bit; there are no parks near Prescott.

Our dinners arrived. They were pretty typical catfish dinners. Each plate had beans, coleslaw (Mom and Dad split mine), French fries, hush puppies, and of course the fish, with a slice of sweet onion and a slice of lemon for garnish. Dad and I had our several strips of fried alligator as well. Catfish plates are often rather greasy and heavy. These had very moderate portions, and nothing too greasy. The catfish was done to perfection, neither too greasy, too done, nor too salty.

The gator strips had been fried to a fine, even golden-brown. I savored them bite by bite. Reptile meats are often described as tasting like chicken. I would not quite say that, but the alligator did have a color and texture reminiscent of chicken breast.

While we ate, we kept our eyes on what was going on outside. At one point another vehicle stopped along the road. One of the young women who had been visiting came in and said that they needed directions to the distant town of El Dorado. Dad, who carries a great mental map of every place he has ever been, stepped outside to help. He came back in hoping that they would not have any trouble with that turn in Camden that tends to trip people up.

Across the road a third senior joined the two already sitting on the bench outside. The trio pretty well filled it to its comfortable capacity. A minute or two later a fourth came outside pushing what looked like an old office chair he had obtained from the store and joined them. They sat there chewing the fat in the beautiful evening light. The store’s American flag stirred a bit beside them in the breeze. It would have made a lovely photograph. It all reminded Mom of the general store she visited as a girl when she went to see her grandmother.

Around the time we finished our meals, a van pulled up and let out several teenagers and a couple of what I suppose were parents. The teens were dressed for a school prom. One girl had a quite pretty dress. She had photos taken with some of the others. Their evening was only just beginning I’m sure. I suppose the restaurant had yet to see its evening crowd as well. It was still quite early.

When we were ready we paid up and returned to our own van. Dad drove us a few miles to the nearby, very slightly larger, town of Delight. Delight (pronounced DEE-light) is best known as the home town of singer Glenn Campbell. A less renowned childhood resident was my grandmother. There is not a lot to see in Delight, but we were not there to sight-see. Dad had heard from the same acquaintance who mentioned the cemetery that one of the stores there carried honey-roasted peanut butter. Dad, who is something of a peanut butter connoisseur (a bit of that has rubbed off on me), loves honey-roasted peanut butter but has trouble finding it closer to home. Sure enough, we found it in the town’s little grocery store.

This mission accomplished, we headed home. By now the evening light was reaching that golden magic-hour beauty that makes it so special. As we left Delight we passed an overgrown lot with some remains of ruined buildings. A kind of fence made of rows of World War II-era metal freight containers bounded it. In that light even these old and worn containers almost looked nice. Dad recalled that for many years this lot had been a big military surplus store.

From there we headed for home by back roads. We saw golden fields with horses, jewel-like ponds, and the modest houses that the people of the area inhabited. It was not the fastest way home. But we enjoyed it.

That sounds like an awesome day, D.L. Your writing has excellent imagery. Every place you described was like a Polaroid photo developing in my head. It made me nostalgic for the small town in NC my mom grew up in.

You also made me hungry for some gator. (I've only had once before, but it was delicious.)

Truly a vacation day in the best form! Nice!