All of North Carolina has been buzzing this week about the same topic, and no, it isn’t the weather (despite broad predictions of wintry mix Friday that never materialized but closed schools anyway). People are aghast, perhaps even grieving, and swapping stories about the closure of a cafeteria. Yes, really.
It is not an exaggeration to say that the community is in shock about the abrupt end of K & W, the cafeteria chain that started with one location in my city of Winston-Salem almost 90 years ago and later expanded to 18 dining rooms across North Carolina and Virginia. The closure— of ALL of them— surprised the community and apparently even the workers, some of whom showed up on December 1 to find a startling message taped to the door. The same message appeared on K & W’s Facebook page.
The long history of a local institution
K & W was a place where you could show up by yourself or with 20 people, and there was always a table ready for you— in a real dining room without televisions, and with comfortable booths and dining chairs. The line to the food stations zig-zagged through permanent barriers that kept things moving efficiently, and you could find yourself striking up friendly conversation with the folks behind or in front of you as you waited your turn to grab a melamine tray and request the items that appealed to you on that particular day. And there were plenty of choices, from jiggly slabs of fruit-studded gelatin to fresh salads with homemade dressings, a variety of meats and more sides than you could imagine.
Hungry for Southern comfort? Take your pick from fried chicken, country ham, crispy fried whitefish or creamy chicken and dumplings. Following doctor’s orders? No problem— they had baked chicken and broiled flounder, and they were never too salty. K & W had everyone’s favorite desserts, and they’d pour exactly as much gravy as you wanted on your mashed potatoes. And, oh my goodness, the selection of warm breads and rolls at the end of the line.
In its heyday, every location was packed after church on Sunday, and you could count on them to be open for Thanksgiving, serving up all the classics. Their homemade pies were so highly regarded that many people ordered whole ones to put on their own holiday tables and, for a time, the chain even provided catering services. Another thing about K & W, the workers were so efficient, that they’d frequently call out for your order from down the line before you could even see the selection they were ready to plate up for you.
“Serve you meat, ma’am?”
I had not been to K & W— named for its original co-owner team, Knight and Wilson— for at least a decade, but the sudden closing of this venerable business has stirred up a bunch of memories for me. It’s one of the first places I found a square meal at a good price when I moved here by myself from upstate New York in the late 1980s. Back then, they served up a wholesome hot breakfast, and I had plans to meet my uncle and his girlfriend there one frosty January morning in 1988, but while I was en route, I heard on the car radio that the restaurant had been rocked by a gas explosion in the wee hours (thankfully, there were only a few minor injuries of employees). That location closed permanently.
The next year, my mother visited me from Colorado and we went to another K & W for a quick and easy dinner. This was one of the times I realized that different regions give their own names to certain standard dishes. One of the offerings that evening was a hot macaroni dish with ground meat, spices and onions, wrapped up in a thick tomato sauce. My mom made a similar version of this dish and we called it goulash, but when she asked for a helping of it from the hot case, all hell broke loose behind the service counter.
“What’d you call it? GOO-losh??” Oh, the workers all had a good belly laugh about it, and my mother was indignant for the rest of the evening. To this day, I’m still not sure what that dish is named around these parts. Maybe some of my local peeps can tell me so that I don’t make the same embarrassing mistake.
Finally, I remember K&W for the many Thursday night meals with my first husband’s school-age daughter. Their custody agreement was odd, affording him dinnertime with his daughter every other Thursday (in addition to Wednesdays and alternate weekends). But we lived in a different town than her mother, so we’d pick her up from school, gallivant a bit, and then wrap up our time at the K&W, where we were grateful for the “home-cooked” feel of a hot, nutritious meal before we had to part ways.
Indeed, everyone around here has memories of K&W, and though it was not in my restaurant rotation for many years, I will miss it. And I’m far from alone— there’s chatter online about people trying to find and re-create their favorite recipes from the cafeteria, and many of our community’s seniors feel that they’ve lost a dear friend. Where else are they going to get a complete Thanksgiving Day meal with turkey and dressing, cranberry sauce and two sides with fresh made bread, dessert and a drink— for $14.99? Nowhere, I reckon.
So what the heck happened?
I found something interesting today as I was poking around the internet about K&W’s closure. The news media said the cafeterias were shuttered on a moment’s notice, but I’m not convinced this was completely unforeseen. The company posted on Instagram seven weeks ago, with a caption asking followers to share their favorite memory of this community staple. And the music that accompanied the post perhaps foreshadowing: it was a snippet from Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” There must have been some kind of trouble simmering that just hadn’t come to a boil yet.
One could easily blame the trouble that befell K&W on the COVID-19 shutdown, which pushed it into bankruptcy and eventually led to it being sold to the Louisiana-based Piccadilly cafeteria chain, which is now apparently owned by— roll your eyes with me— a private equity corporation. Or it could just be a natural progression of things, the result of changing appetites and a collective desire for more upscale dining options (me, I’m guilty), or maybe everyone actually wants a TV in every corner with metal stools and high-top tables, rather than a comfortable sit-down experience that is affordably priced. I found Yelp reviews that suggested that the quality of food and indeed the overall K&W experience had suffered in the past couple of years. I wouldn’t know, given how long it’s been since I visited.
Whatever caused the collapse, I feel especially sad for my community’s senior population, and I’m also concerned for the workers who are now out of a job, just in time for the holidays. It’s the end of an era, and folks around here won’t be quick to get over it.
Comfort du Jour 