But neither of those well-meaning expressions of welcome provided the kind of easy, come-and-go atmosphere of a small-town café that is so conducive to a relaxed exchange of news and opinions. American Legionnaires opened up their hall as an informal gathering place. Jay Saunders, who runs the gas station, put a pot of coffee in his office for visitors to share. It was only then that citizens realized how much the place had meant to them. Finally, in 1984, the Havana Café closed, leaving the town without a restaurant. As time passed, Havana’s population thinned, business at the restaurant dwindled, and the old building began to crumble. In the postwar years many farms switched from grain to row crops agriculture modernized and small family farms grew more scarce. Slim sold the place in 1948, after which several owners came and went. For decades his restaurant served as an ad hoc community club where people could come not only to eat breakfast and the midday meal (known as dinner) but to exchange tidings over coffee. When Slim Miller opened the Havana Café in 1913, there were 450 residents of the thriving grain-producing stop on the Great Northern rail line just one mile north of the Dakotas’ border. Last Fourth of July, when the Inn was open only until 11 A.M., ninety-four meals were served-an amazing tally for a café in a dot-on-the-map town in the middle of nowhere with a population of one hundred, not including dogs, cats, and livestock. This is a place where neighbors can come to break bread together, where retired farmers hold court, young men eat five-thousand calorie breakfasts, and toddlers play with toys (a box of them is always on hand). Its heartland menu and small-town character are inextricably bound up with the life of the little enclave, for it is owned and operated communally by the townspeople.

It is the first of many pots to be made and poured that day in the town café, which is frequented by farmers and farmwives who live in and around the North Dakota village called Havana.Ī most unusual enterprise, the Farmers’ Inn is the only restaurant for miles around-a valued gathering place for locals and a farm-food oasis for hungry travelers. Originally Published 1997 Gourmet MagazineĪs dawn’s mist lifts away from the black earth west of the Bois de Sioux River and rows of sunflowers coil up to face the daybreak like soldiers coming to attention, a pot of coffee is put on to brew at the Farmers’ Inn.

Old havana cafe