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Only an exit ramp away from the Cross Bronx Expressway, this husband-and-wife-run pit stop caters to the culinary cravings of homesick West African expats. In between fares, gypsy-cab drivers from Senegal, Guinea, and Sierra Leone stop in for the house favorite: pungent cassava leaf stew, a brownish paste thickened with peanuts and scooped onto heaping trays of white or yellow rice. Mix-and-match meat dishes are available to hungrier patrons, most of whom know the menu by heart. (In truth, no menus exist aside from a small one taped to the kitchen wall). Before heading back out, customers have been known to catch a few innings on the big screen in one corner or bow in prayer on rugs in the other—whichever makes them feel more at home. — Lauren Berger