The cafe sits on the corner of First and Main, and, like most of the establishments in Hudson, looks abandoned. A drab faded-red and brown brick block, the building is anything but inviting from the outside. It looks like something unwanted, something discarded. It looks lonely.
Inside, our group takes up nearly half the available space. We’re gathered around a series of tables that have been pushed together in the far northern corner of the cafe. The nearby wall of windows is hidden behind a drape of clothing hung on a line. For sale. On one sweatshirt there is an image of a large sad looking woman, with the words “Wake me when I’m thin.” There are a series of bags with a charismatic smiling elephant, advertising the cafe. There is a frilly mint green apron and towel set that catches Gail’s eye, and a hand-made coloring-book bag complete with individual crayon holders that catches mine. I must admit the place is kind of cute inside. Homey.
It’s very low key. The tables are covered in cheap miss-matched tablecloths, the coffee served in a barrage of quirky mugs with cute of humorous images and messages, the kind of setting you might find in a friend’s kitchen cabinet. The walk-in pantry beside us is wide open, revealing deep shelves stocked with ketchup and tomato sauce and salad dressing. Beside it, covering almost the entire half-wall, is a large American flag, all proud with it’s red white and blue. I stare a while at the display below it. Newspaper clippings and fliers are littered upon it, fraught with photos of young smiling men in desert camo. Young men deployed to Iraq. Local Wyoming women’s sons, dead or gone far away. It upsets the homey feeling of the place, and yet is strangely fitting as well.
The waitress serves us with a frown so deeply engraved across her face that she apears to me to be the very personification of the building’s exterior. I can’t quite tell if she’s tired or stressed, unhappy about our pressence, or if that’s just her general demeaner. I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
We take our time, eating our second breakfast and sipping our coffee while reading the paper of puzzling our way through the Tid-Bit’s crossword. The food, I find, leaves something to be desired. Alas, we could have made better in the Trail Bag. But I smother my omelet in ketchup and enjoy the relaxing gathering anyway. After all, it isn’t every day we go out to eat in Hudson, home of the World’s Fines Food!
…Or so proclaim’s the town’s welcoming sign.
They must have been referring to Svilar’s. 
