The Peddler has been in the same building over the LeConte Creek since 1976. The deck hangs over the water. The dining room is dark wood and fireplace light. The salad bar is genuinely legendary among people who know the restaurant — not as a backup plan but as a destination in itself, with house dressings made from scratch and ingredients that turn up fresh each day.
The steaks are cut tableside — your server brings the tray to you and you pick the size before it goes on the grill. It is an old-school move that works better than it should. The beef is good, the cooking is consistent, and portions are substantial enough that the dessert menu is mostly aspirational by the time you reach it.
Reservations are not accepted — the Peddler runs on a first-come queue that opens at 4:30 p.m. Get there between 4:30 and 5:15 p.m. if you want a same-evening table without a two-hour wait. Later in the evening the queue fills up and the wait time climbs. It is worth planning around.
Skip the strip restaurants entirely and come here once during your stay. You will understand why people have been doing this since the Carter administration.
