In a building that used to be a King's restaurant (one of those kitchy little '50's places where you placed your order via a radio on your table), Katie and Rol performed a feat of redecorating and refurbising that created the Granary -- a family restaurant that's quickly become one of the best places to eat in the town, bar none.
It's not fancy. In fact, Katie will tell you if you ask nicely that if it started to GET fancy, they'd close down. Instead, it's a casual place to kick up your boots (quite literally) and relax, eat giant helpings of family-style American Midwest cuisine while being served by waitresses in denim skirts and oxford shirts tied at the waist. All the wait staff is missing is a stalk of wheat to chew on, and it'd be cliche.
Actually, it IS cliche -- but that's part of its charm. The entire two-room building has been overhauled in eau de Cowboy, from the saddles and old photos on the wall to the signs that tell you the painted pumpkins from this year helped "X" number of people celebrate Thanksgiving this year. The ceilings and trim are rough wood, there is a smell of grease and vinyl everywhere, and so help me, the food is the best in the world.
It's a sort of "Cheers" atmosphere. Almost everyone in town eats here, and -has- for some time. When you walk in, even if you haven't been there for ages, the waitresses (who have an extremely low turnover rate -- a testiment to the commitment that Katie and Rol have for their employees) will call you by name, ask you how your mother is, remember you fondly in pigtails. If you haven't been here before, you'll make fast friends -- the staff doesn't let anyone eat if they aren't friends.
Dishes range from the "Hired Hand Burger", a $4 concoction of nothing more than a half-pound of meat on a bun with very little of the frou-frou like tomatoes or lettuce, to the "Fried Catfish Platter" for $5, which includes salad and "cottage fries" -- another, more country-fied name for flat potato rounds, deep-fat fried. There is nothing on the menu that could be considered exotic or inaccessible, no squid or caviar -- just plain food that fills you up and doesn't break the bank.
This is a family affair -- so expect everything from children's giggles to strange farmhand-type smells from the next table over. It's the only place in town that I've actually overheard the hostess ask a man to clean his boots before he'll be served. It's a piece of local treasure, though -- dust off the errant piece of hay (which may be from the bales stacked in the lobby, anyway) and relax. Enjoy your time here. It might start to feel like home.