When you’re born and raised in the American South, you have certain culinary skills embedded into your DNA. Bill Greenwood, for example, can fry chicken to golden-brown crispy perfection, make a biscuit that’s both tender and flaky, and work a pie crust with the deftness of a sculptor.

He’s shown hints of those down-home talents during his stints helming kitchens in California and Telluride, but ever since opening his eponymous Ridgway restaurant in January with childhood friend Marty Frank, they’ve been on full display. Word of his melt-in-your-mouth Palisade peach pies and tender fried chicken has caused many travelers heading to Telluride or Ouray to detour for a meal.

Greenwood, 46, grew up kneading and rolling pie dough in his father’s restaurant, Greenwood’s on Green Street, a local institution in his hometown of Roswell, Georgia. His brawny forearms are a testament to his pie prowess. Every day after school, while other kids ran off to play football or baseball, Greenwood would retreat to the tiny kitchen to peel and puree pumpkins, shuck bushels of corn, and carefully cut butter into pie dough.

He went on to work at high-end steakhouses around the country and in 2020 was named executive chef at the glitzy Madeline Hotel in Telluride. There, Greenwood started to build relationships with the Western Slope farmers, ranchers, and artisans that would later provide ingredients for his Ridgway venture.

Last year, siblings Merlyn Ellis and Zack Young, Ridgway residents and hospitality veterans, bought a series of commercial buildings in their hometown. They transformed one into the 12-room, Western-themed Hotel Palomino and offered the former Panny’s Pizza space next door to Frank and Greenwood. “Marty and I have talked about owning a restaurant together since we’ve been kids,” Greenwood says. “It’s really a dream come true to open my first restaurant with my childhood friend.”

The men went to work taking down the Sheetrock and flipping weathered deck boards to make it look fresh. Inside, they hung whimsical wallpaper patterned with forest animals and framed concert posters—a nod to Greenwood’s obsession with music (he works as a private chef at Burning Man every year). Potted plants, vases of fresh flowers, and a nook filled with cookbooks give the place a homey feel.

The biscuit pot pie at Greenwood’s. Photo courtesy of Greenwood’s

Whether you find yourself at Greenwood’s for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, expect Southern flair throughout the menu. Biscuits are made from scratch every morning using silky White Lily flour—a Southern pantry staple—and come coated in a savory gravy or stuffed with maple sausage, scrambled eggs, or fried chicken.

The lunch and dinner roster is even heartier: fried catfish with heirloom grits and collard greens, cola-braised pulled pork slathered with Carolina gold sauce and sauteed onions piled into a hoagie roll, and short rib pot pie with a cut of beef bone marrow erupting from the center.

Around half of Greenwood’s loyal customers are locals, so a handful of dishes have become mainstays, based on clients’ pleas. “We’ve gotten threats over the meatloaf leaving the menu,” Greenwood says. His upscale riff on the humble dish is a mix of beef, lamb, and pork cooked pâté style, served with buttery mashed potatoes, caramelized onions spiked with sherry, and a rich, wild mushroom gravy. Greenwood added the Flintstone’s-worthy, 32-ounce, dry-aged Tomahawk steak he was known for at the Madeline to appease customers who followed him from Telluride to Ridgway (and are happy to shell out $300 for a prime cut of meat). But most of the menu changes seasonally based on what Greenwood is foraging or sourcing from purveyors.

The 32-ounce, dry-aged Tomahawk steak at Greenwood’s. Photo courtesy of Greenwood’s

There’s a small bar, which forgoes fancy craft cocktails in favor of straightforward classics, craft beers, and local wines, including a few Western Slope producers, like Sauvage Spectrum.

From the expertly seasoned collard greens to the warm way the staff greets each guest, Greenwood’s is a little slice of the South in Colorado’s high country. And although it may seem like he exclusively recruited Georgians and Texans for his team, it turns out Greenwood is just an excellent teacher. He’s spent so much time training them in the art of working dough into to-die-for pies and biscuits that they’re starting to rival his own. “Some of the girls have bigger forearms than mine now,” Greenwood jokes.