In a small town near the Dunes, a local restaurant sits proudly across from a parking lot for a grocery chain, proclaiming itself. “PANCAKE HOUSE” its sign reads. It is listed as Campus Cafe, and it is true that a university is only a couple blocks away, but you’ll find no students here.

When I visited, it was a saturday or sunday morning, to the best of my remembrance, and we were the only non-locals there. I love that atmosphere. It’s a kind of intrusion that no one will complain about, usually. Though we stood out, no one asked us from whence we came, to where we intended to leave, or what our intentions were. Yet a prickly calm was thickly palpable in the dining area for a better part of the time we sat and ate.

This isn’t a review or recommendation, though it was a delightful meal.

I have a special love of sneaking in where I’m allowed and not quite welcome. It allows me, as an interloper, to maintain a distance from where I am while investigating it on a deeply personal level. I only took the one photo when visiting – to photograph the inside or the clientele would be rude.

But I can tell you that the interior was bland, covered in old high school trophies and advertisements for local plumbers. The tables were plastered in the advertisement equivalent of the Las Vegas Strip. The population of the Campus Cafe couldn’t have broken below the 50 year mark, and everyone was taking their time with the generous helpings dished out by the 3 employees that appeared to be working.

I’ll be back. If only because I don’t think they wanted me there in the first place.

But mostly for the head-sized cinnamon rolls.