We’ve all read the ominous Facebook post from our favorite locally owned restaurant announcing they are shutting down. Immediately, thoughts and emotions rush in as you recall countless meals, but you also grow concerned about the families impacted by the decision. Of course the situation is beyond your control, but you quickly rally the family to visit the establishment one final time. The small act of kindness provides a sense of fulfillment, despite the heaviness of the moment.
I remember the first time I walked into Sweet Potatoes in Winston-Salem. The original location was intimate and constantly humming with chatter and the clinging of plates and glasses. The aroma of soul food filled the air, and Vivian’s warm smile made everyone feel like family. After 22 years of serving our community, they are closing their doors permanently.
They’re not the only Triad restaurants closing down. In High Point, Kepley’s BBQ — a place where generations of families gathered for 77 years — and Damn Good Dogs are gone too. So is Mayberry’s in Winston-Salem. The Prescott in Kernersville is in transition.
The numbers tell one story — rising costs, labor shortages, shifting consumer habits. But walk down any street in the Triad, and you’ll see another story unfolding. Where local favorites once stood, national chains are moving in. First Watch is expanding at Friendly Center. Whataburger announced plans for a new location, and Raising Cane’s are popping up everywhere. The food’s good, sure, but something’s missing — that personal touch, that connection to our community’s history.
When Sweet Potatoes closes its doors on Trade Street, they will leave behind more than memories. The kitchen where Chef Stephanie perfected her recipes for two decades is still there — equipment, hood vents, grease traps, everything a new restaurant owner dreams of. These “second-generation” spaces should be golden opportunities for local chefs with big dreams but modest budgets. After all, building a restaurant from scratch can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. However, other hurdles in the industry make opening new locally owned restaurants challenging.
I’ve been talking to local restaurant owners, and their stories keep me up at night. One chef told me she’s paying 40% more in food costs than two years ago, but she fears continuing to raise prices will lose customers. Another said he’s working 80-hour weeks because he can’t find enough staff. These aren’t just business challenges — they’re struggles that lead to burn out.
Yet amidst the closures, I see hope. Young entrepreneurs are getting creative. Some are starting in food halls, sharing kitchen space and costs. Others are reinventing traditional business models, focusing on takeout or hosting pop-up dinners. They’re proving that with innovation and community support, local restaurants can still thrive.
But here’s the truth: The future of dining in every community is in the hands of consumers. Every time we choose where to eat, we’re voting with our dollars. Chain restaurants will always have their place, but do we want them to be the only option?
If you love that family-owned Italian place where the owner knows your name, or that hole-in-the-wall BBQ joint that’s been smoking meat the same way for decades, show up for them. Order directly instead of through delivery apps that take big cuts. Leave reviews. Tell your friends. Every meal matters.
To our landlords and city leaders: Think long-term. A diverse, vibrant restaurant scene attracts people and businesses to our area. When you squeeze independent restaurants with unsustainable rents or complicated regulations, you’re not just hurting those businesses — you’re diminishing what makes your community special.
And to our restaurateurs: We see you. We value your hard work, your resilience, your sacrifices and dedication to feeding our community. Times are unprecedented, but not insurmountable. Keep innovating. Keep cooking. Keep bringing us together over great food.
When I think about North Carolina food, I don’t think about franchise or chain restaurant burgers. I think about Miss Ora’s fried chicken, Magnolia 23’s sweet potato pie, about the generations-old vinegar sauce at Kings, about the comfort of a family-run diner where the biscuits are still made from scratch every morning. This is the food that tells our story — from the smoke pits that put us on the map to the soul-food joints that preserved our grandmothers’ recipes.