This Nearly 100-Year-Old Diner Started as a Prohibition-Era Root Beer Stand

Before neon beer signs and fast-food drive-thrus, soda fountains ruled Main Streets across America. When Prohibition outlawed alcohol in the 1920s, root beer became the legal indulgence of choice – poured cold, foamy, and full of bite.

One nearly 100-year-old diner built its entire identity on that moment.

Triple XXX Family Restaurant began as a Prohibition-era root beer stand, and today it still serves that same draft recipe in frosted glass mugs. Around it grew a tight counter, a loyal following, and a menu that feels stitched into local history.

I went looking for the original root beer legacy and found much more – burgers with personality, breakfast that never clocks out, and a rhythm that feels unchanged by time.

1. Where You Will Find It

The building sits compact and confident just off State Street near Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana. Orange and black accents hint at its college-town setting, but the structure itself feels older than the steady stream of backpacks passing outside.

The hillside location gives it a slightly tucked-away feel, as if it grew naturally from the pavement rather than being placed there.

Parking runs along nearby streets and in public lots. During lunch or football weekends, spaces tighten and patience becomes part of the visit.

Inside, counter stools line one wall while booths press neatly into the opposite side. The layout is efficient, almost intimate.

There is no wasted space.

Outdoor tables provide breathing room when weather cooperates, though many prefer the hum of the interior.

Prices remain firmly in that comforting single-dollar-sign category. You can order freely without glancing nervously at the total.

That alone feels like a relic of another era.

2. A Prohibition-Era Beginning

The story begins with root beer, not burgers.

The Triple XXX brand emerged during Prohibition, when breweries shuttered and soda fountains became gathering places. The “XXX” signified strength and quality, a marketing flourish that felt bold without breaking the law.

While many soda brands faded once alcohol returned, this location endured.

It evolved from a drive-in root beer stand into a full diner, but the draft root beer never left the spotlight. The fountain remained the anchor while the menu expanded carefully around it.

Ownership shifted over decades, but the philosophy stayed constant: keep the recipe steady, keep the service personal, keep the counter full.

Nearly 100 years later, that decision reads as stubborn in the best possible way.

You feel that continuity in the walls.

3. The Root Beer Ritual

Every visit should begin with the mug.

A server places a thick, frosted glass in front of you, cold enough to fog instantly in the room’s warmth. The draft root beer pours dark and lively, crowned with foam that settles slowly rather than collapsing.

The first sip arrives smooth and sweet, followed by a gentle herbal note. Vanilla rounds the edges, while wintergreen lingers just enough to remind you this is not a generic tap.

Temperature plays its role. The cold glass sharpens the flavor, making each swallow feel deliberate.

Order a float next and watch the foam shift into creamy ribbons as vanilla ice cream melts into the root beer. It becomes dessert and drink at once.

Take-home packs sit near the counter for those unwilling to let the ritual end at the door.

Some traditions deserve transport.

4. Burgers That Built a Following

If root beer started the story, burgers gave it momentum.

Patties press against the flat-top with a practiced hiss. Edges crisp while the center stays tender.

American cheese melts cleanly across the surface, sealing in heat and flavor.

The Duane Purvis All-American remains the most talked-about option. Peanut butter spreads thin across the bun, melting into the burger until savory and nutty merge seamlessly.

It sounds eccentric.

It tastes balanced.

Classic cheeseburgers deliver without theatrics, while chili-topped variations satisfy those chasing comfort over surprise.

Fries arrive crisp outside and fluffy within, salted with confidence.

No garnish distractions. No towering gimmicks.

Just proportion and precision.

5. Breakfast That Refuses To Clock Out

Some diners serve breakfast because they must.

This one serves it because it matters.

Pancakes land wide and fluffy, soaking up syrup without collapsing. Biscuits arrive warm, their crumb holding gravy rather than dissolving beneath it.

Eggs are cooked with attention. Hash browns toe the line between crisp and tender.

Coffee flows steadily, though pairing a morning plate with root beer feels like a small act of rebellion.

The breakfast menu provides balance to the burger fame.

It ensures the diner hums from morning into afternoon without losing stride.

6. The Counter As Community

The counter is where the real show happens.

From this seat, you witness choreography — spatulas sliding, mugs filling, plates turning in tight arcs from grill to hand. Conversation stretches from one end to the other, weaving strangers together temporarily.

Regulars greet staff with familiarity that feels earned rather than staged.

Newcomers are guided gently, offered suggestions without pressure.

The sizzle becomes background music. The hiss of soda replaces soundtrack.

It is immersive in a quiet way.

Nothing here feels designed for social media.

It feels designed for repetition.

7. A College Town Tradition

Generations of Purdue students have claimed this diner as their own.

Exam weeks, late-night study sessions, post-game celebrations, graduation mornings — milestones marked not by speeches, but by burgers and draft root beer. The counter has quietly witnessed nervous freshmen turn into confident alumni, all within arm’s reach of the griddle.

On football Saturdays, the place swells with black and gold.

Conversations sharpen with predictions and friendly rivalries. Tables fill faster, laughter grows louder, and the door seems to swing nonstop.

The staff adjusts seamlessly, moving with the tempo of game day without losing their composure.

Alumni return years — sometimes decades — later and order without glancing at the menu.

They point to a booth and say, “I used to sit right there.” The staff hears stories about dorm life, professors long retired, and first dates that somehow turned into marriages.

The diner absorbs those memories.

It becomes a marker in personal timelines, a constant in a world that moves quickly outside its narrow walls.

You do not just eat here.

You participate in something that has been happening for nearly a century.

8. Timing Your Visit

Tuesdays are closed, a small but firm reminder that even institutions need a weekly pause.

Mid-morning is the sweet spot. The breakfast rush has thinned, but the grill still hums and the coffee stays fresh.

There is space to linger without feeling the pressure of a waiting line behind you.

Early afternoons bring steady student traffic, especially during the academic year.

Evenings relax slightly, though game weekends shift everything into high gear. During football season or major campus events, the sidewalk often holds a patient line of hopeful diners.

The staff manages it with calm transparency.

Quoted wait times tend to be accurate, and tables turn efficiently without feeling hurried. The rhythm never devolves into chaos because everyone knows their role.

Arrive with your order in mind and you become part of the smooth choreography.

This place rewards decisiveness and a little patience.

And if you do find yourself waiting outside, the anticipation only sharpens the first sip of root beer.

9. Value That Hasn’t Vanished

In an era when diner nostalgia often comes with upscale pricing, this place holds the line.

A burger, fries, and a draft root beer still land comfortably within reach of a student budget. That matters in a college town, where affordability determines tradition.

Families order freely without scanning the right side of the menu first.

Retirees linger over second refills. Parents visiting campus appreciate that a classic meal does not require a special occasion.

The portions feel honest rather than excessive.

You leave satisfied but not overwhelmed, which encourages return visits rather than regret. That balance is harder to maintain than it looks.

Value here is not about cutting corners.

It is about consistency.

The receipt reads like an invitation to come back tomorrow — and many do.

10. Service That Keeps People Returning

Hospitality at this diner feels practiced in the way muscle memory feels practiced.

Refills arrive before you notice your mug dipping low. Orders land with accuracy and an easy nod.

Questions about the menu are answered without rehearsed scripts.

Even during peak hours, there is a steadiness to the staff’s movement.

Cooks and servers communicate in glances and short phrases. Plates move from grill to counter in smooth arcs, and no one appears flustered even when every stool is filled.

You are not rushed, but you are never forgotten.

There is a subtle art to that balance.

Regulars are greeted by name. First-timers receive gentle guidance.

Families with children are accommodated with quiet efficiency.

It feels like a place where people take pride in doing their job well.

That pride becomes contagious.

You leave remembering faces, not just flavors.

11. A Soda Fountain That Never Faded

Soda fountains once anchored American towns, especially during Prohibition when root beer replaced beer as the social drink of choice.

Most of those fountains disappeared when trends shifted and chains expanded.

This one did not.

It evolved carefully, expanding its menu without abandoning its foundation. The draft root beer remains central, poured with the same attention it received generations ago.

The counter is still narrow enough to encourage conversation.

The mugs are still heavy enough to frost properly. The recipes have been refined but not reinvented.

That continuity feels intentional.

You sense that each decade added a layer rather than stripping one away. The place does not cling desperately to the past, nor does it chase novelty.

It simply continues.

That kind of endurance carries weight.

12. Why It Still Matters

Longevity alone does not guarantee relevance.

What makes this diner matter is the way it connects eras without feeling staged. A Prohibition-era brand still pours draft root beer for students born nearly a century later.

The room holds overlapping timelines.

An elderly couple shares a booth beside undergraduates debating exams. A parent introduces a child to the same burger they ordered decades earlier.

The sizzle of the grill bridges those moments.

The root beer foam settles the same way it did in the 1920s. The counter stools creak slightly but hold steady.

Outside, traffic patterns and fashion trends shift, yet inside the rhythm remains recognizable.

You realize this is not just about food.

It is about continuity.

Nearly 100 years after soda fountains filled a cultural gap, this diner continues to serve as a gathering place – one frosted mug at a time.

Some traditions survive quietly.

This one pours loudly and proudly, every single day it opens its doors.