Sweet Memories, Like Sweet Roast Beef

The year was 1997, and I was an inexperienced, wide-eyed 8-year-old on the cusp of a great culinary awakening: my very first trip to K&W Cafeteria. I had no idea what to expect when I walked in beside my grandparents, both seasoned veterans of the cafeteria line. I knew what a buffet was, and I thought I understood what a cafeteria was… but I was about to learn that K&W existed in its own category entirely.

The moment I stepped through those glass doors, I was greeted by a smell unlike anything my school cafeteria had ever produced. This was a symphony—a swirl of scents drifting from the dessert bar, mingling with the brightness of fresh salads and the comforting aroma of spaghetti and fried chicken. It was as if someone had taken every food I liked and let them mingle freely in the air. What a world!

As I approached the line, a kind employee handed me my own tray—a rite of passage, a symbol of responsibility, and, most importantly, permission. “You can get whatever you want,” my grandparents said. Whatever I want? The concept nearly short-circuited my young brain. Spaghetti AND mashed potatoes? Ham AND fried chicken? And the sides… oh, the glorious sides. It was like leftover night at home—but nothing had ever lived a previous life in our fridge.

Once the choice paralysis finally wore off, I built my masterpiece: carved roast beef, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, a salad for balance (because even at eight I respected the illusion of health), and a plan to negotiate dessert later. I practically sprinted back to the table, eager to admire my tray in all its glory—and also because it weighed approximately as much as a cinder block.

But in my excitement, I made a rookie mistake. Instead of salting the roast beef, I sprinkled it generously with sugar. Sugar! Who puts sugar out on a table? (Answer: places with coffee-drinking grandparents.) And so, in a display of stubborn pride, I ate every bite of that sweet, confused piece of beef. My first K&W meal—memorable for all the wrong and right reasons.

And now, the sun sets on a true Southern institution. With the news that K&W is closing its doors, we all find ourselves remembering moments like mine—not identical, perhaps, but woven with the same threads: the warm smell that greeted you, the impossible number of choices, the comfort of being there with people you loved. That was the soul of K&W—family. Not just the families who came to eat, but the family they built inside those walls.

So tonight, as K&W shutters for good, raise a glass—or a plate, or a slice of pie—to the cafeteria that fed generations and gave us stories we never expected to hold so dear.

Cheers to you, K&W. And thanks for the memories—sweet roast beef and all.

(Matt Wells- Big Foodie)