Preaching the Gospel of South Bend Food

On Friday evening, I was at a show and chatting with a friend between sets. “If I’m trying to preach the gospel of the South Bend food scene to Notre Dame students,” he started, “What is the one place you think I should tell them to go?”

I fumbled over my words for a moment as the band started to play. I write about food in South Bend, I thought, I should have an answer.

“We can talk later,” he offered.

Saved.

The music was pounding and my mind was churning. People ask me this all the time. Why is it so hard to come up with an answer?

After some thinking, I’ve decided I don’t have a favorite restaurant. And I don’t think there’s one place in town that will convince anyone we should be a food destination. The reality is South Bend isn’t winning Restaurant City of the Year anytime soon. (Go ahead, take my city pride card from me.)

Two years ago I started this blog with an ambitious idea: put South Bend on the map as a food destination. But soon I realized this isn’t about convincing the world (or Notre Dame students)—or even ourselves—that we stack up to other cities. And why should we try?

I believe South Bend and other small cities face a unique set of challenges that make it difficult to hit every mark of a perfect restaurant experience: lack of funding, low population density, and difficulty staffing to name a few. But this doesn’t mean we don’t have incredible moments happening around us that would stand up in any major city.

So, what feels more important is to zoom in, keeping my eyes wide open for these moments and sharing them with you—the people who call this place home.

Because in a small rust belt city like South Bend, it might not be the entire city or even an entire restaurant that knocks it out of the park. But if we’re looking, beautiful food is buried on the back page of the menu, tucked away in an old warehouse, or at 3 o’clock on the patio with the train rolling by. This isn’t Disney World where delight is delivered on a silver platter. It’s more like a vintage market, shuffling through racks of clothes to find that one thing that makes us smile.

“There’s nothing to do here,” “There’s nowhere good to eat,”—wrong.

If you’re willing to look, you will find it. And I might even like it better that way. Sure, there is something compelling about a perfectly curated experience that checks all the boxes, but too much of it and my eyes glaze over.

So, at least for now, I’m not here to preach the gospel of South Bend food. Instead, I’m here to keep my eye out for the moments that make living here—eating here—beautiful.

Photography by Jacob Titus