Bud and Cheryl's

by Connor Parks, Multimedia Editor and Staff Writer

Sometimes, the promise of good food in a great place makes turning off the GPS entirely worth it. Such was the case one bright September Saturday, when the journey to the restaurant at hand was half the fun of the experience. By this point in the drive, my Yukon was struggling to stay on the narrow, zigzagging two-lane road through the low, oak-laden hills. We’d arrived in one of those particularly quaint rural areas — you know the type: the stretches where you find yourself remarking that “nobody needs a driveway that long;” where one starts considering practical uses for the tractor they pass with a haphazardly placed “for sale” sign on the grille. But, as Centre students from at least four of my classes had frequently informed me, the reward was close, and very, very sweet. Pun intended. Said reward, as we soon saw, came in the form of a peculiar, squat little red structure nestled between hay-covered sloping fields, a dredged-out gravel parking lot crammed with dust-streaked cars by its side. How could I not romanticize it?

It wasn’t your typical ordering process, either. QR codes lay behind laminated sheets were posted on metal support beams around the facility, the online menu providing no shortage of, well, the kind of menu items you’d expect to enjoy here — chili dogs, quesadillas, chicken tenders, tots, the whole gamut (and then some) at reasonable prices. My eyes narrowed to some of the more review-worthy items to order–this was to be a comprehensive take, after all, so a hefty double bacon cheeseburger with a milkshake (the product for which I’d heard the most raving) seemed appropriate. I was handed a buzzer, Panera-style, by the attendant at the ordering window, and we chose a bright purple roadside table at which to sit. Indoor seating was completely eschewed for open-air dining, which I definitely appreciated. The ambience was nonexistent in that it was what we made of it: the fresh rustic air around us, the falling September leaves, the rush of the occasional passing car or ATV. It was comfort food in the most comfortable setting possible — food which quickly arrived on paper trays and in white styrofoam cups, its presentation daring to be mocked by any elitist before the taste inevitably made them eat their words.

And what a taste it was. You can have your Five Guys, your Kobe Grade-A beef, your freshly imported Angus any day — this, my friends, this was a BURGER. The dual patty smothered in lettuce and bacon, with just enough mayo on the bun to suffice, was a two-hand lunch just as any higher power intended. When it comes to burgers, I like to take the time to savor each bite, allowing myself to experience each aspect of the beefy, indulgent form I find myself enjoying. Not the case here — I finished this double-patty burger in approximately 48 seconds; make of that what you will.

The accompanying tots made for a fantastic traditional side, but the real treat of the meal was the peanut butter milkshake, whose richness I assume translates to any of the restaurant’s many milkshake flavors. I poked around with my plastic straw expecting to find a liquid beverage inside. Instead, I found a substance somehow simultaneously harder than magma and smoother than silk to the bold taste. I was, in every sense of the word, wowed. Sonic, Dairy Queen, Wendy’s — they’ve all tried, but Bud and Cheryl’s somehow found a way to truly succeed. Go for the burgers, but stay for the shakes.

Unfortunately, your semi-religious roadside experience will have to wait a while. Bud and Cheryl’s is closed for the autumn and winter months — the joint’s only caveat is that it only remains open from around April 1 to October 1 each year. The minute spring rolls around, though, you’d be remiss not to pile some friends in the back of a big car and make the short trek south to experience one of the best roadside digs around. I did so on a complete whim and fully expect to do so again.

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