Restaurants are just people who decided to work dinner together. These are ours, and they are why the room feels the way it does.
Etta grew up in Haywood County cooking beside her grandmother, staged through kitchens in Charleston and Lyon, and came home to open a restaurant with windows. She writes the menu weekly, cooks the pass nightly, and still picks up the farm deliveries herself on Tuesday mornings.
More about the chef →Cal kept the wine list at a Savannah dining room for six years before following the mountains here. He buys from growers, not portfolios, hosts The Long Table series in the Cellar, and believes the second-cheapest bottle is a myth to be dismantled.
Theo runs the line and the wood oven, and the brick chicken is his. He came up through two Asheville kitchens and an Appalachian farm season, and he is the reason the trout hits the table crisp every single night.
Willa bakes the sourdough, the biscuits, and every dessert on the card, all out of one wood oven on a schedule she defends fiercely. Her apple stack cake follows a family recipe she will discuss but never print.
Nora built the service style of the house: warm, unhurried, and precise about the things that matter. If your night ran perfectly and you cannot say why, that was Nora.
Sam keeps the room, the books, and the reservation ledger honest. He is the voice on the phone for large parties and the person who remembers your table from last time.
Kitchen and floor, we hire year round, and we would rather read a good letter than a long resume. Tell us who you are and what service means to you at hello@ploverandpine.example.
Corn soup with lump crab, tomatoes at their height, and the last of the sour cherries in the chess pie. First seating at 5.