Where we truck drivers eat

I don't think I could ever be a truck driver, but here's a place I enjoyed eating. On our way back from fantabulous Niagara, here's where we stopped for another of those much needed bathroom breaks.

Unlike some places where you can't use the bathroom unless you are buying something, this little place was different. After that little visit, my sister's curiousity piqued, she ended up looking at the adjoining diner. She came back to the car, obviously excited at the prospect of not eating another fast food meal in the car. We decided to stop for an early lunch. Right there at Ignace, Ontario, home of 1700 friendly people.

This trucker's stop was a sure indicator of friendliness. Seemed that everyone knew everybody. Free-flowing coffee nearby, the aroma tempting you to stay. We plopped into one of the comfy 60s style diner booths complete with its own cupholders and condiment ledge. (And get this: each booth with its own credit card swiping machine. I kid thee not!)

You're reminded that it's a trucker's stop all the time, surrounded by collector's items cast iron trucks around the restaurant (see up there near the ceiling).

Their specials were not something to cough at. Full meals complete with drinks and dessert for $6-8. I'd just gorged on leftover muffins in the car and decided to get their thick mushroom soup, ceasar salad and some orange juice.

R was faced with and eventually plowed through a humungous serving of meatballs (about 10 very large pieces) with rice. Benil, with a little help from Ja, enjoyed her spaghetti with some veggies on the side. Stuffed, we took our desserts of homemade blueberry cheesecake to go.

Oh, and B and I agreed that the hot toasted, even a little burnt, toast fried in butter was to die for.

Sorry I forgot to take photos of the food. Faced with the sheer volume of food, taking photos was the last thing on my mind.