Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen

Revisiting My 20 Year-Old Self

The summer of 1999, after completing my sophomore year of college, I found myself living at home with my parents and high school-aged brother. I immediately regressed and started having hissy fits and full-on meltdowns, including one where I plucked the side mirror off the family van while backing down the driveway at breakneck speed.

My mom and dad mandated that I find paid employment for the remaining six weeks of summer. Few businesses wanted to hire a college student for such a short stint, so I ended up as a cashier at a drive-through biscuit shop.

Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen (1305 E. Franklin St., Chapel Hill, NC) may have been a beloved local institution, turning out award-winning biscuit sandwiches since 1978, but as a place of employment, it was my personal hell.

I am not an early riser. I can get out of bed before dawn if need be, but I’m certainly not going to be pleasant about it. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t take a job with Mid-Morning Biscuit Kitchen or Days’ End Biscuit Kitchen. I took a job with Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen, and as karmic retribution for my bratty behavior, my daily call time was 5:30am.

I would stumble out of bed around 5:10am (after multiple wacks at the snooze button), throw on a pair of leggings and a grease-stained, branded t-shirt and scurry the quarter mile down the hill in the pre-dawn light.

Arriving bleary-eyed and unshowered, I’d grunt hello at the head baker who had already been cranking out fluffy biscuits and cinnamon rolls (made from the luscious biscuit dough) for several hours. He would simply shake his head at the pathetic sight of me.

I’d shimmy around the metal prep table, past the sandwich station and assume my position at the cash register. Once inside Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen, a closet-sized, commercial kitchen with a mere bump-out for the pickup window, there was nowhere else to go.

The early-morning rush started shortly after I clocked in, so I’d don the drive-thru headset and brace myself for the onslaught. Orders came in over a crackly PA system from customers with Southern drawls as thick and rich as Tupelo honey. I’d regularly ask them to repeat themselves — a Northern transplant should never run the register at a Southern drive thru — which did not go over well with this largely uncaffeinated lot.

Once they pulled up to the window, I was slow to make change and fill flimsy styrofoam cups with coffee or sweet tea from the Bunn dispenser, furthering their frustration. In the moments after passing over the bag, I prayed that I had punched their order in correctly as I was sure to receive a heavy scolding had I erred.

Because this was North Carolina, I also encountered super chipper types who were eager to chat me up. As a cynical Yankee — how could someone be so energetic and cheerful this early in the morning? — I countered their Southern charm with a scowl and an eye roll.

By 9am there were no more cars in line and I’d have to busy myself until the lunch rush. I detested being stuck in a pint-sized pantry with country folk from the likes of Saxapahaw (who equally hated being around a stuck-up college girl from Connecticut), and I barely engaged in small talk.

With the scent of freshly-baked buttermilk biscuits wafting through the air, I instead passed time fantasizing about my daily culinary creation.

I started out simple: bacon and egg on a biscuit, the classic fried chicken and cheese. But the more shifts I worked at Sunrise, the more brazen I became, and before long I was cranking out towering concoctions.

I began stacking multiple proteins (fried chicken, egg, bacon) and adding every possible item on the cold prep station (raw onions, cooked onions, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo, mustard) to my biscuits. I even sandwiched deliciously-greasy hash brown patties above and below the deep-fried chicken, when I was feeling particularly indulgent.

Management certainly wasn’t pleased with my loose interpretation of the “eat free on break” benefit, however, they somehow put up with me as I put my metabolism (and their patience) to the test for my remaining time on the job.

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It took me twenty-five years to return to Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen as a paying customer, when BB and I stopped by on our way out of town recently.

The biscuit maker gave us a big smile as we waved at her through the window. Unlike me, the woman running the drive thru seemed like she was having a great time and was utterly charming as she posed for our photos at the pick-up window.

The food was outstanding. BB had the bacon and egg on a biscuit, which featured several strips of deliciously crisp bacon and a perfectly scrambled egg, neatly folded over on itself.

Having reigned in my eating habits since my early 20s, I ordered the fried chicken and cheese sandwich, an expertly-fried, buttermilk-brined breast with a room temperature slice of cheddar cheese draped over the crunchy crust. The chicken was perfectly-seasoned and the biscuit was as feathery as I had remembered.

Now that I’m living life on my own terms, I’m able to laugh at that petulant 20-something who behaved nightmarishly at an hourly job she utterly despised. I’m the first to admit that Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen makes one heck of a biscuit sandwich, and I can’t wait to return again and again each time we’re back in Chapel Hill.

All photos by Jared Wheeler

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