According to the filing, K&W has around $30 million in assets, debts of $22 million, and between 100 and 199 creditors. On September 2, in an 80-page petition, the chain filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, a protection sought by businesses that plan to restructure and remain in operation. In an interview with the News & Observer, K&W president Dax Allred said that without that loan, the restaurant would have closed restaurants during Phase One.īy the end of August, though, only one location remained open locally-at 3620 Bastion Lane in Raleigh-out of 18 remaining restaurants. In the application, K&W sought to protect 500 jobs. Treasury Department as between $5 million and $10 million. The company fought to keep workers on: It received one of the largest PPP loans in the state, listed by the U.S. But the pandemic brought operations to halt, and during the height of restaurant restrictions in North Carolina, business dropped by 80 percent. In 2012, on the chain’s 75th anniversary, K&W had 35 outposts across North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, and West Virginia. And believe it or not, I just loved their turnip greens and vegetables.” “There’s a Southern dish called Chess Pie, and they had someone there who could make that pie, oh honey, to die for, like your grandmother used to make. “Their deserts were always homemade, it seemed,” McMillan says. She was drawn by its affordability and the choose-your-own-adventure spread of homestyle food.

McMillan, who lives in Charlotte, told the INDY that she was first introduced to the restaurant while living in Winston-Salem, a single parent in the 1990s. “There can be all kinds of other things to go and see, but if they have a K&W, I love the place.” “My family likes to tease me because whenever I’m in a new place and I see a sign that says there’s a K&W, I’m absolutely impressed,” McMillan says.

The best of INDY Week’s fiercely independent journalism about the Triangle delivered straight to your inbox.ĭiners like Vivian McMillan hope that’s true. In a 2019 profile, the folk musician Rhiannon Giddens described the food as “unpretentious” and the Greensboro K&W as an egalitarian space where elders and young folks alike could gather. It offers the Groundhog Day of Thanksgivings, with an affordable made-from-scratch spread that resets each morning it also, according to some devotees, captures the spirit of a Thanksgiving dinner with communal arrangements that bring everyone together. Since 1937, the modest, family-run restaurant chain from Winston-Salem has attracted an ardent retiree fan base by approximating the Southern food experience. Patronage, anyways, is just one word for the support shown by K&W diners, over the years. It is hard not to wonder if that devotion might keep its doors open. In early August, a taped note appeared on the door of the K&W Cafeteria at Cameron Village in Raleigh: “To our valued customers,” it began, “we have greatly appreciated your patronage over the years and apologize for the inconvenience.” The note spelled trouble for the cafeteria chain: All told, six out of seven Triangle locations ended up shuttering, followed shortly thereafter by a bankruptcy filing.įor many years, though, K&W has been an operation sustained by devotion.

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