The American Dream Behind a Sunoco

My mother insists that my father’s current favorite Mytoury is named Taste of India, located somewhere near the San Francisco Bay Area. Allegedly, it’s nestled in the back of a gas station, and if you’re up for a challenge reminiscent of a Carmen Sandiego quest, this is your place.

A quick Google search for “Taste of India gas station restaurant” reveals millions of results. You’ll find a Taste of India at a truck stop in Marshall, Texas; another in a gas station in San Jon, New Mexico; one more in Clinton, Mississippi; and a My Taste of India in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Numerous Yelp reviews mention surprised customers discovering their lunch served from a Chevron, while TripAdvisor comments urge newcomers not to let the location deter them. Yet, my father’s specific Taste of India — my personal “Rosebud,” the riddle I must solve — remains elusive.

If you dig a little deeper, you’ll uncover thousands of Mytouries in gas stations and truck stops scattered across every state and city. Typically, these establishments are run by immigrants dishing out comforting meals in Styrofoam bowls, like sarson ka saag and shami kebabs — the flavors they long for from home. As an immigrant child in suburban America, my childhood was peppered with unassuming Indian restaurants near interstates, where a buffet lunch was set up right beside a 7-Eleven. If it’s not a Taste of India, you might spot a Momo Spot inside a Texaco in Irving, Texas, or a Haeorum Foods Korean BBQ squeezed between a dry cleaner and a pet groomer in an Ocala, Florida Sunoco food mart. For years, gas stations have been serving up Korean tteokbokki, Tibetan sha phaley, and Punjabi tandoori chicken in locations most wouldn’t think to glance at twice. For immigrant families like mine, we’ve always been aware of these hidden gems.

In 2006, then-Senator and presidential hopeful Joe Biden faced criticism for stating, “You cannot go to a 7-Eleven or a Dunkin’ Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent.”

What he should have articulated is that immigrants represent the country’s strongest entrepreneurial spirit. They launch new ventures at nearly double the rate of native-born citizens, and Asian- and Latino-owned businesses alone contribute over a trillion dollars in annual revenue. According to the Fiscal Policy Institute, based on 2013 Census data, immigrants account for 61 percent of all gas station owners and 38 percent of all restaurant proprietors in the United States.

This prevalence in the gas station sector wasn’t by mere chance. It was only in 1965, during the peak of the Civil Rights movement, that America abolished race-based immigration quotas established by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 through the Hart-Celler Act. Instead, it imposed quotas on immigrants from the Western Hemisphere and created a preferential system that favored those with professional skills and specialized training.

In the ensuing decades, family reunification initiatives led to a surge in immigration: Between 1980 and 1988, Asian American immigration skyrocketed by 70 percent. However, for individuals from Mexico and other Latin American nations, the Hart-Celler Act imposed further limitations on immigration, continuing a trend that began in 1965 with the gradual end of the Mexican Farm Labor Program (known as the Bracero Program). At one time, this program allowed nearly half a million migrants, mostly from Mexico, to enter and exit the U.S. annually, often under harsh conditions. The caps established by Hart-Celler followed the largest mass deportation in U.S. history: In 1954, over one million people, primarily Mexican, were deported using aggressive military-style methods.

Many immigrants arrived without proper documentation, making it challenging to secure jobs. Even those with legal status often found that their previous qualifications and work experience went unrecognized in a new culture. 'Many who came faced discrimination and struggled to find employment,' notes Dr. Anita Mannur, an associate professor of Asian American studies at Miami University. Rather than enter a workforce that marginalized them, many immigrants opted to launch their own businesses. 'Self-employment gives them grMytour control over their situation,' Mannur explains. 'Many didn’t have strong English skills, and running a convenience store doesn’t demand high proficiency. ... The choice to be self-employed is crucial because it allows them to work without encountering the microaggressions that often accompany traditional employment.'

Many newcomers gravitated towards gas stations and convenience stores, which required minimal initial investment and came with established customer bases and business models. Their willingness to relocate to less popular cities also helped lower living costs, and many operated these stores as family-run businesses, keeping overhead expenses low.

Gurnam Singh, affectionately known as 'Gama' by friends and family, arrived in the United States during the 1980s. Originally a farmer in Punjab, he saw opportunities dwindling in India. His father moved to New York and entered the gas station industry with his uncle in 1979. A decade later, Singh joined the family venture in the Bronx.

In 2007, after being alerted by friends about an auction for a truck stop, Singh seized the opportunity. Along with his wife, children, mother, and father, he left New York City for a fresh start in Burns, Wyoming, a town with a population of just 318.

From the outset, Singh envisioned serving food at his new Antelope Truck Stop. He began offering slow-cooked Punjabi dishes like chicken curry, dal makhani, and saag, which require hours of preparation, alongside American roadside favorites like scrambled eggs and burgers. 'People often wonder why we moved from India to Wyoming,' Singh shares. 'But it’s about business. If we can secure a better life and education here, it’s worth it.'

Punjabi-owned 'dhabas'—truck stops serving Punjabi cuisine along major routes—are now part of the American landscape. In India, dhabas are 24-hour Mytouries typically located near highways, adjacent to gas stations. They offer ultimate comfort food, rich and creamy, often drenched in ghee, providing a delightful indulgence for travelers and a chance to connect with fellow road-goers.

In the U.S., these dhabas offer a slice of familiarity and a sense of community in an otherwise lonely profession. For truck stop owners like Singh, it fosters a bond with the Punjabi community, albeit one that fluctuates. Burns is predominantly white, with Singh's family likely being the only Indians in town; it’s not the most intuitive location for a traditional Punjabi restaurant. However, at Antelope, the cuisine isn’t primarily intended for the local population. It caters mainly to Punjabi truck drivers eager to enjoy freshly made chapatis while on their journeys.

'Preparing Punjabi food requires a lot of effort,' Singh explains. 'Everything must be prepped in advance, made to a high standard, and then served fresh when the customer is ready.' For Antelope Truck Stop, this means the kitchen opens at 5 a.m. and closes at 8 p.m.

The work is relentless. Antelope operates as a genuine family business—Singh, along with his wife, father, and mother, handles cooking, manages the truck stop, and runs the adjacent convenience and liquor stores. During our phone conversation, he seamlessly balanced the interview while attending to customers, often interjecting with phrases like, '$14.59, cash or credit?' While many gas stations and restaurants struggled during the pandemic, Singh notes that business has remained steady. 'Transportation and truck stops are still essential,' he remarks. 'We’re doing quite well because people need us.'

Similar to Singh, sisters Angelina and Made San Juan Rizo understand the intricacies of managing a true family business. Food has always been central to their family life; as children, they worked at their grandmother’s restaurant in Mexico, mastering the art of making tamales, pozole, and tortas.

After relocating to the United States in 2000, the sisters settled in Franklin, Tennessee, a town embodying the same values of faith and morality they cherished from their upbringing. Fourteen years later, eager to open their own restaurant, they purchased a gas station convenience store, giving birth to the Old Oak, where they serve their grandmother’s traditional recipes. Unlike Singh’s truck stop, which benefits from a steady flow of truckers, Angelina and Made’s station primarily attracts locals, many of whom were unfamiliar with Mexican cuisine when it launched in 2014.

'We faced our share of challenges in the beginning,' Angelina recalls. 'We ended up wasting a lot of food because we would prepare large quantities but didn’t have enough customers to buy them. Plus, our English accents made us unsure if people would accept us.'

Initially, Angelina notes, they catered to customers who had never experienced Mexican food. Fortunately, their patrons were eager to try new things. 'We had to show them how to eat, as many didn’t know what to do with a tamale,' she explains. Today, tamales are their most sought-after dish, and for good reason: 'Tamales are perfect for eating in the car.' Although the Old Oak has some indoor seating, most of their clientele consists of drivers looking for quick meals. Through sharing her food, Angelina discovered a welcoming community in Tennessee that mirrored the warmth of her hometown in Mexico. 'As people learned more about us, they kept coming back,' she shares. 'They love us, and we love them.'

In Michigan, the Gulli family faced similar challenges in the early 2000s when they launched Mr. Kabob, a Middle Eastern restaurant situated within their gas station. Concerned that potential customers might hesitate to eat from a service station, they intentionally designed an open kitchen to showcase their commitment to freshness and quality. Fortunately, these concerns never came to fruition.

'In no time at all, we went from zero to a hundred, and we’ve never looked back,' recalls Naseem Gulli, one of the owners of Mr. Kabob. 'Even today, we often hear people say, ‘I smelled your food at the intersection and had to pull in.’ It’s that garlic and olive oil aroma that draws them in.'

The Gulli family's entrepreneurial spirit has taken them far. When Naseem’s parents, Walid and Fadia Gulli, arrived in Michigan, they saw how the auto industry was taking over Detroit. It was the early 1970s, and with Saddam Hussein rising to power in Iraq, they feared for their future as Christians in a predominantly Muslim country. Thus, they sought a new beginning.

'Many immigrants prefer to settle where they find their own community, and that was metro-Detroit back then,' Naseem explains. Even now, Detroit hosts one of the largest Iraqi American populations in the country. The Naseem family acquired a two-bay auto garage in Berkley, Michigan, and began offering full-service car repairs. 'My dad was always a serial entrepreneur, just like he was in Iraq,' Naseem recalls. As their sons grew older, Fadia and Walid transformed the garage into a gas station and used the renovation to create the restaurant now known as Mr. Kabob.

(Top left) The interior of Mr. Kabob; (top right) A mezze plate available for takeout at Mr. Kabob; (bottom) Chicken sizzling on the grill at Mr. Kabob in Berkeley, Michigan. | Rosa María Zamarrón

Eventually, the restaurant outpaced the gas station in busyness, prompting the family to think about expansion. Naseem and his two brothers, who were employed elsewhere at the time, returned to help grow the family business. 'We always assisted, but I never imagined making it my career,' Naseem reflects. 'I was so involved, but when your family calls, you respond.'

That single gas station has evolved into a full-fledged restaurant franchise: Today, the Gulli family owns and operates four Mr. Kabob locations, with only the original in Berkley still functioning out of a gas station. A fifth location in Detroit is currently closed due to the pandemic's impact. 'We’re still waiting for business to rebound to pre-COVID levels,' Naseem shares. 'We're trying, but it's a long road back to normalcy.'

While COVID ravaged the restaurant industry over the past year, the pandemic provided Patty Lopez and Nunzio Fuschillo with an opportunity to reset and rebuild. The couple first met at Caino, a two-Michelin star restaurant in Tuscany, Italy, where Lopez was a pastry chef and Fuschillo the chef de cuisine. After years in Italy, they sought a new adventure in Florida, closer to Lopez’s family. Thanks to their culinary training and Michelin backgrounds, they quickly secured positions at fine dining Italian restaurants in the U.S. Then, the pandemic struck.

'Restaurants shut down... all of Miami was in lockdown, and we panicked,' Lopez recalls. 'With two small children and a mortgage, we needed stability.'

As a final effort, they rented a 200-square-foot kitchen space in a local gas station. Though they had always dreamed of opening their own establishment, a gas station wasn’t what they envisioned, but it turned out to be just the blessing they needed. They began baking fresh breads and pastries—baguettes, focaccia, and sourdough loaves—launching a business they named Effe Cafè. Almost immediately after starting, they hit the ground running.

'The advantage was its affordability,' Fuschillo shares. 'We opened this place using our savings, thinking, if it works, great; if not, we’ll pack up the kids and head back to Italy.' From their impressively compact kitchen, equipped with just one convection oven and a 14-inch griddle, the couple launched what Lopez describes as their 'micro-operation.' Each morning at 5 a.m., Fuschillo hand-rolls croissants because there’s no space for a sheeter. But their hard work quickly paid off.

'We went from serving 10 customers to 100 in just two weeks,' Fuschillo remembers. 'It took off. After three weeks, we realized we needed more space.' Now, only seven months into launching Effe Cafè, Fuschillo and Lopez are already contemplating how much longer they want to remain in the gas station and when they might open a standalone café of their own.

As I converse with each owner, I realize that the choice to set up shop in a gas station is primarily practical. When I ask Angelina Rizo why they opted for a gas station, she provides two insights. The first is common among restaurant owners: People need gas, so as long as they're driving, the likelihood of attracting customers increases, and those customers often want something to eat. It reflects the same immigrant mindset I’ve observed throughout my life: Seek out opportunities, stay alert, and find ways to be of service. The reason immigrants tend to be entrepreneurial is that many of us are taught to first identify where our skills are needed, and then to exceed those expectations once we’re there.

Her second response was much more heartfelt: When Angelina travels to Florida with her family, they love to stop at gas stations along the way to discover new foods. They understand how significant these moments can be during a journey; at Old Oak, they aim to provide that same experience for others. This summer, she and her sister plan to create a patio at their restaurant, complete with picnic tables, palm trees, and music in the background—a place for people to gather, relax, and enjoy a little slice of happiness when they’re ready to unwind.

Trisha Gopal is a writer and editor based in Brooklyn, New York. Sam Angel is a photographer based in Nashville. Rosa María Zamarrón is a documentary photographer from southwest Detroit. Natalie Behring is a freelance photojournalist and photo editor based in Idaho and Wyoming, focusing on rural American issues. Fact checked by Kelsey Lannin