When I was a freshman in College... technically it's a “University” now, but back then we were small potatoes. My Psychology Professor was exactly as you would picture a professor, tall and thin, wide eyed with metal round rimmed glasses and a smart looking mustache. I was a buck-O-five and green as the corn I hale from, country mouse in the city giddy to start college. Dr. Professor was obviously the best in his intellectual field, and I was a little out of my comfort zone, impressionable and insecure but eager to learn; I tuned in:

Dr. Professor began by dramatically pointing to the crowd of students in that hot airless room and said, “Your Mother is the best cook in the world, and I'm going to tell you why.” You know that part in the movies where you hear tires squealing to a halt, or the record scratch? Well this was that moment. I stared...blank faced waiting. Now, I know there is a big scientific psychological explanation from the Doc, but I'm not here to spell that part out for you, for heavens sake, I already know my Mother is the best cook! Looking around not only was I homesick for my Mother, but I was hungry! (This was not really a revolution, I'm always hungry) I was obviously in the wrong place. Apparently, I was already smarter than my Dr. Professor, (not really, a simple google search can prove that) but I wanted to go home!

I didn't completely throw in the towel that afternoon, and although I had serious doubts about how much my college could teach me; Dr. Professor did explain something to us that day that I will never forget.
I left college after 3 semesters surprisingly not because I was too smart, I just wasn't cut out for college life. I wanted to travel the world, so I did! The first time I ate lobster I was 20 years old, on a Lobster boat in Bangor Maine. I traveled and sampled food coast to coast, sat at fancy dining tables that were bigger than my actual apartment and cost just as much. That's when I let the magnitude of what my professor had been trying to say, soak in like sugared strawberries on an angel food cake.

From a young age, we are home fed, maybe biscuits a little too burnt, lumpy mashed potatoes, or a big slice of tomato with breakfast; It's home. Home cooking. No matter how far or fine your travels take you, no one can top your Mother's home cooking, its fact. The story my professor told that day, so long ago- goes (something) like this; A young boy goes off to college, he grabs his tray every day at lunch, but calls home to his Mother sad and hungry, he tells her the macaroni is “springy” there are no casseroles, no gravy, and the cookies are not crispy like he likes them. You see, to him- these are the comforts of home; The “best cooking in the world”-to him, al dente pasta or soft cookies are not! And why does no one ever seem to offer tuna casserole? Nope! I understand this clear logic, I do! I understood it in a 5star restaurant in Chicago Illinois-still homesick for my Mother's cooking, and no doubt you understand too.

Some may laugh or turn their nose at peanut butter and syrup mixed up as a viable breakfast option, but as they say, “don't knock it till you try it!” It's truly the quirks in life that quite literally make it absolutely perfect.
Hometown restaurants too; Try explaining to a Texan you put cinnamon in your chili, serve it over spaghetti, and top it with cheese... and watch their head explode!

Batesville has so much to offer in fine and fantastic food, and maybe I'll get to that in another article, but until you've sat in a booth as the sun comes up being served black coffee and a slice of homemade lemon meringue pie from the always present sweet Libby, the comforting sound of The Price is Right playing on morning TV, and my favorite, the literal hands who've built this town, meet and eating in the surrounding tables, well; You've not lived!
The Hobo Hut may not seem like something to write home about, but I couldn't love it's history or dare I say, “ambiance” more! The genuine folks within the walls of that little Hut could teach me more about life than I could ever hope to learn in some College turned University. I could sit in that sunshine and listen the greatest generation school me on a life well lived day in and day out and be all the better for it.

Owners Bob and Carleen Wieler have proudly served our community for over 30 years. Prior to the Hut, the building was one “Hum Dinger!”
I wonder what my Dr. Professor would say about my hankering for the Hobo's Western Omelette, biscuit and side of gravy; Shoot! We both know he'd wonder how the heck with his volumes of lofty accolades he ended up in my simple little article. The Hobo Hut has a tradition of putting an inspirational quote on their white board every morning before opening. I once read in a book, “Aren't we all just walking each other home?” I liked it. Maybe they'll add it to their repertoire. Savor the journey y'all!