We started our last day in Louisville like any sane people would - on a mission for Big Nita’s cheesecake. It was Mother’s Day, and we weren’t about to leave town without a final encounter with the world famous Big Nita’s Cheesecake.
They’d posted on Facebook that they’d probably sell out early. Which, in Big Nita speak, means “you better line up at sunrise and bring camping gear.” They open at 11 a.m., so naturally, we showed up at 10:30 like amateurs and were greeted by a line of people stretching a block down the street, some of whom looked like they’d been there since Big Nita sold out the day prior.
We parked, got in line, and began the slow crawl of hope. Right at 11, the doors opened and the line inched forward. By 11:30, the smell hit me—sweet, sugary cheesecake air wafting through the city like it was sent from heaven. I watched person after person emerge, grinning like they’d just won the lottery, arms full of boxes and bags, clearly planning to hoard cheesecake like it was toilet paper during Covid.
Then it happened. As we reached the threshold of the sacred cheesecake chamber, the girl at the counter shouted, “Take Salted Caramel off the board!” I looked up. Multiple flavors had already been executed, crossed out one by one.
I stepped up and ordered like someone who’d just watched the cheesecake market crash in real-time. One by one, the top flavors were wiped off the board, and I wasn’t about to get left holding nothing but regrets (and a cookie.) I scanned what was still standing, made quick but calculated choices—Oreo, Banana Pudding, Reese’s, Chocolate Covered Strawberry—like a man making serious decisions under pressure. No panic. Just precision.
The Big Nita’s team sprang into action, boxing cheesecake with military precision. Then the girl shouted, “That’s it! We’re out of cheesecake—only cookies left!” Somewhere behind me, a grown man began to sob in a way that reminded me of when I heard, “We’re out of brisket,” while touring barbecue restaurants throughout Texas.
I stepped outside with my victory box, caught the eyes of the hopeful crowd still waiting, and gave them a small, sympathetic nod—the kind you give when you know something they don’t… and really don’t want to be the one to say it out loud.
The rest of the day was much more relaxed. We spent the afternoon at my sister’s house—no lines, no countdown clocks—and then headed to our favorite Cuban spot, Havana Rumba, for a dinner of lechón asado and masas de puerco that absolutely delivered. Perfectly seasoned, crispy in all the right places, and packed with flavor—this place never misses. Every bite was a reminder of why it’s always at the top of our list when we’re in town.
Now, I know what you’re thinking—Cuban food in Louisville? But it turns out the city has a legit Cuban population that brought not only rhythm, but also seriously good recipes. These restaurants aren’t just places to eat; they’re vibrant little slices of Havana, offering both flavor and flair. If you’re ever in Louisville, don’t miss them. Your taste buds will thank you.
After dinner, we returned to Tanya’s for the grand finale: Big Nita’s Cheesecake—the spoils of our morning battle. We laid them out like treasure: Oreo, Reese’s, Chocolate Covered Strawberry, Banana Pudding, and the highly coveted Strawberry Crumble.
Donna went straight for the Strawberry Crumble. I took one bite of the Banana Pudding and immediately understood why people were willing to stand in line for hours and risk deep emotional trauma for this stuff. Every slice delivered exactly what we hoped for—rich, indulgent, and just fulfilled enough to remind us we made it out with cheesecake while others did not.
We passed around forks, traded bites, and confirmed what we already suspected: it was absolutely worth the wait, the stress, and possibly losing a little bit of faith in humanity while watching Salted Caramel vanish in real time.
Then it was back to camp. Tomorrow, we roll into northern Indiana—Wild Blue Yonder’s birthplace and the only place where you can see five motorcoaches and three horse-drawn carts at the same stop sign.
