Fish Hawk Acres

Fish Hawk Acres Fresh flavors daily at Fish Hawk Acres—your local spot for market delights & full-service catering! We believe in supporting local and regional food systems.
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Our hope is to serve as a catalyst for people who wish to reclaim the food they eat. Locavore is a new word describing local eating, which has been adopted by a cutting-edge social movement. But the Locavore concept is nothing new. Not necessarily 100 percent local, but predominately local is the way almost all people ate until the past few generations.

Listen, if you’re looking for a salad that’s actually fun, our Fried Green Tomato & Bacon Salad is here to save you from...
09/03/2026

Listen, if you’re looking for a salad that’s actually fun, our Fried Green Tomato & Bacon Salad is here to save you from your sad desk lunch. It’s got grilled chicken, it’s got bacon, it’s got buttermilk dressing, and it’s got zero regrets.

Teresa has officially lost her mind and decided it’s Pumpkin Spice Season. So, we have pumpkin spice scones. Don't fight it, just embrace the orange-hued chaos.

Need a soup to warm your soul? Our Sweet Corn & Country Ham Chowder is basically a hug in a bowl, but with more ham.

And for the "I have zero time to cook" crowd, our Grab & Go fridge is stocked with Spinach-Artichoke Fettuccini Alfredo topped with roasted red pepper and tomato bruschetta. Add chicken if you’re feeling fancy, or don’t if you’re just trying to get through the day.

Come get it before we eat it all ourselves.

The Real Signs Fall Is Coming to Fish Hawk Acres Forget the leaves changing.Around here, we know fall is coming by a com...
09/03/2026

The Real Signs Fall Is Coming to Fish Hawk Acres

Forget the leaves changing.
Around here, we know fall is coming by a completely different set of warning signs.
The apples start arriving.
Someone says the word pumpkin and suddenly it appears in breads, cakes, cookies, lattes, desserts and probably something savory nobody asked for.
The catering sheets begin multiplying on the desk like somebody left two of them alone overnight.
The walk-in gets fuller.
The kitchen gets louder.
And every available horizontal surface slowly disappears beneath sheet pans, hotel pans, boxes, cutting boards, produce, paperwork and things labeled:
DO NOT TOUCH. THIS IS FOR SATURDAY.
Which, naturally, guarantees someone will touch it.

September is the month when we stop communicating in normal sentences and start speaking almost entirely in numbers.
“How many?”
“One fifty.”
“Which one?”
“Saturday.”
“Hot or cold?”
“Both.”
“Pickup?”
“No. Full service.”
And somehow everyone knows exactly what conversation we’re having.
Coffee consumption increases dramatically.
Someone is always looking for a Sharpie.
Someone else is yelling, “WHO MOVED THIS?”
There are apples everywhere.
Peppers are still coming in from the farm like summer hasn’t received the eviction notice.
Tomatoes are hanging on with admirable determination.
Squash begins showing up in quantities that suggest we may have accidentally planted for the entire county.

And then there are the weekends.
That’s when the real autumn migration begins.
Cambros get loaded.
Tables get counted.
Serving utensils get packed.
Food gets wrapped, labeled, loaded, unloaded, reheated, served and somehow returned to Fish Hawk Acres along with approximately three spoons nobody recognizes and one lid that fits absolutely nothing we own.

By October, we have completely lost track of time.
Monday feels like Thursday.
Thursday feels like Saturday.
Saturday feels like it has been happening for three consecutive days.
And somebody will inevitably walk into the kitchen and ask:
“What are we doing next weekend?”
Nobody likes that person.

But underneath all the chaos, there’s something we love about this time of year.
The kitchen smells like apples and cinnamon.
The ovens stay busy.
The farm starts changing.
People gather for weddings, dinners, celebrations and all the things that bring everybody around a table.
And we get to feed them.

So yes, you can watch the mountains for the first red leaves if you want to know when fall has arrived in West Virginia.
At Fish Hawk Acres, we have another system.
If there are apples on the counter, six catering sheets taped to the wall, a pumpkin dessert in the oven and absolutely nowhere left to set down your coffee...
Fall is officially here.

If you think your group chat is hard to follow, try decoding the kitchen printer at 12:00 PM on a Friday. Between the "n...
09/02/2026

If you think your group chat is hard to follow, try decoding the kitchen printer at 12:00 PM on a Friday.

Between the "no onions," "sub side for side," and the classic "server forgot to ring in the appetizer," it’s basically a secret language at this point. If we manage to get your order out correctly, it’s not just service—it’s a miracle!

We’re back, and yes, we know you’ve been wandering around like a lost toddler without a nap. The hiatus is over, and we’...
09/01/2026

We’re back, and yes, we know you’ve been wandering around like a lost toddler without a nap. The hiatus is over, and we’re ready to rescue you from your home-cooked meals.

Come shove some flavor into your face today:

* Stuffed Pepper Soup: It’s basically a stuffed pepper that gave up on being a solid and decided to become a liquid legend. Much easier to eat, zero chance of it rolling off your plate.
* Roasted Butternut & Goat Cheese Salad: With chicken and pepitas. It’s fancy enough to make you feel like you have your life together, but tasty enough to make you forget you actually don’t.

Get to Fish Hawk Acres before we decide to take another "nap" for a month. Your stomach will thank you.

Things That Count as Aromatherapy at Fish Hawk Acres Bacon hitting a hot skillet.Bread coming out of the oven.Onions sof...
09/01/2026

Things That Count as Aromatherapy at Fish Hawk Acres

Bacon hitting a hot skillet.
Bread coming out of the oven.
Onions softening in butter.
Coffee brewing before the sun has fully made up its mind.
Apple pie cooling on the counter with strict instructions not to touch it yet.

These are the smells a lot of us grew up with.
The kind that make a kitchen feel warm before anybody says a word.
The kind that remind you of grandmothers, Sunday dinners, church suppers, canning days, family gatherings, and somebody hollering from the other room, “Don’t you cut that pie yet.”

We’ve never been especially interested in candles called Mountain Morning or Country Kitchen.
Around here, we prefer the actual mountain morning.
And the actual country kitchen.
Preferably with something frying in cast iron and a pan of biscuits close enough to require supervision.

Because in Appalachia, aromatherapy has always been pretty simple:
Put butter in the skillet.
Turn on the coffee.
Bake something.
And eventually, somebody will wander into the kitchen asking,
“What are you making?”

The Appalachian Emergency Food PyramidWe’ve been looking at the traditional food pyramid, and frankly, we have concerns....
08/31/2026

The Appalachian Emergency Food Pyramid

We’ve been looking at the traditional food pyramid, and frankly, we have concerns.
Apparently there are recommended daily servings of fruits, vegetables, grains, proteins and dairy.
That’s adorable.

Because anyone raised in Appalachia knows there is an entirely different nutritional system that has kept people alive through hard winters, lean years, power outages, unexpected company and approximately 147 years of family reunions.

We present:
THE APPALACHIAN EMERGENCY FOOD PYRAMID
Not reviewed by the FDA, USDA or anyone with a degree in nutrition.

LEVEL ONE: POTATOES
The foundation.
Every Appalachian household should maintain enough potatoes to survive a minor economic depression.
Fried potatoes.
Mashed potatoes.
Potato soup.
Scalloped potatoes.
Potato cakes made from yesterday’s mashed potatoes.
And, of course, the classic emergency supper:
fried potatoes with onions and whatever else we can find.
If civilization collapses tomorrow, find the Appalachian with the fifty-pound sack of potatoes.
That person has a plan.

LEVEL TWO: FLOUR
Flour is not an ingredient.
Flour is infrastructure.
With flour, you have biscuits.
Gravy.
Pie crust.
Dumplings.
Pancakes.
Bread.
Cobbler.
And approximately seventeen other things Grandma could make without consulting a recipe.
If you have flour and bacon grease, you are already dangerously close to supper.

LEVEL THREE: EGGS
Every Appalachian refrigerator contains eggs.
Preferably from somebody whose chickens have names.
Eggs can become breakfast, lunch, supper or the thing you fry when somebody unexpectedly announces they're hungry ten minutes after you cleaned the kitchen.
They also provide the essential Appalachian unit of commerce:
“I brought you some eggs.”
Which frequently results in:
“Well, take some tomatoes home with you.”
This is how our economy operated before Venmo.

LEVEL FOUR: BACON GREASE
Now we enter the sacred portion of the pyramid.
Bacon grease should ideally be stored in a jar, crock or container beside the stove that would horrify a modern food-safety consultant.
You don't throw bacon grease away.
Good Lord.
That's not garbage.
That's an ingredient.
That's seasoning.
That's history.
That's tomorrow morning's fried potatoes.
Generations of Appalachian cooks understood that throwing away bacon grease was approximately equivalent to burning money.

LEVEL FIVE: SOMETHING CANNED BY SOMEBODY'S GRANDMOTHER
The pinnacle.
Green beans.
Tomatoes.
Pickles.
Peaches.
Apple butter.
Corn.
Relish.
Something mysterious labeled only “2024” that nobody remembers putting up but everybody agrees is probably still fine.

An Appalachian pantry wasn't decoration.
It was insurance.
Rows of Mason jars meant winter couldn't completely surprise you.
The garden might be gone.
Snow might be on the ground.
Money might be tight.
But downstairs on those shelves was August.
Tomatoes picked in the heat.
Beans snapped on the porch.
Peaches put up when they were dripping juice down your arm.
Summer waiting patiently inside glass jars.
And somewhere beneath the official pyramid there should probably be an additional category:

FOOD FOR PEOPLE WHO WEREN'T INVITED BUT SHOWED UP ANYWAY.
Because Appalachian mathematics has never recognized an exact head count.
Cooking for six?
Make enough for twelve.
Cooking for twelve?
Better make enough for twenty.
Family reunion?
Nobody knows.
Just keep frying chicken.
Someone will bring macaroni salad.
Three women will arrive with deviled eggs.
There will be fourteen desserts.
And somebody's aunt will bring a casserole nobody can identify but everybody will eat.

That's the real Appalachian food pyramid.
It wasn't built around nutrition charts.
It was built around necessity.
Resourcefulness.
Gardens.
Preservation.
Making do.
And one deeply held belief:
There should always be enough to feed one more person.

Because food around here was never just about feeding yourself.
It was how you took care of people.
Someone got sick?
Take food.
Someone had a baby?
Take food.
Someone died?
Take enough food to feed their entire extended family until Thursday.
New neighbors?
Pie.
Church gathering?
Casserole.
Unexpected visitor?
“Have you eaten?”

Maybe that's the part of the Appalachian food pyramid worth preserving most.
Not the bacon grease.
Not the potatoes.
Not even Grandma's canned green beans.
It's the instinct underneath all of it.
If I have enough, you have enough.
And if things get really bad...
we've still got potatoes.
Probably enough for three winters.
And Brenda's bringing deviled eggs.
We'll be fine.

We Have Two Seasons at Fish Hawk Acres People like to talk about spring, summer, fall and winter.That’s adorable.At Fish...
08/30/2026

We Have Two Seasons at Fish Hawk Acres

People like to talk about spring, summer, fall and winter.
That’s adorable.
At Fish Hawk Acres, we have two seasons:
Catering season.
And preparing-for-catering-season.
And somewhere around September, catering season stops knocking politely and just kicks the damn door in.

From September through December, we no longer communicate like normal human beings.
We communicate in head counts.
“Is that 75 or 125?”
“Did they add 20?”
“Why does the invoice say 80 but the kitchen sheet says 110?”
“Who the hell changed the count?”

We communicate in hotel pans.
“How many full pans?”
“Do we have enough half pans?”
“Where are the damn lids?”
“Who took all the 4-inch deeps?”

And then there is the universal language of catering:
muttered profanity.
Not angry profanity, necessarily.
More like punctuation.
“Where’s the fu***ng whisk?”
“Who moved the goddamn tongs?”
“Why are there no fu***ng sheet pans?”
“Did somebody seriously put that back in the walk-in without a label?”
And my personal favorite:
“WHO THE HELL USED THE LAST OF THE BUTTER?”

September starts innocently enough.
A few weddings.
A rehearsal dinner.
Maybe a corporate lunch.
Everybody still has hope in their eyes.

By October, we are discussing our personal lives exclusively while peeling potatoes.
“How’s your mother?”
“Fine. Pass me that fu***ng bowl.”

By November, Thanksgiving enters the chat and apparently the entire state of West Virginia needs something baked, roasted, glazed, stuffed, whipped or covered in gravy.
There are turkeys everywhere.
Pies everywhere.
Butter everywhere.
Somebody is making dressing.
Somebody is making cranberry sauce.
Somebody is trying to remember whether that pan is for Thursday, Friday, Saturday or the event we forgot was happening Sunday.
And someone inevitably asks:
“Is this for the Smith wedding?”
No.
It is never for the Smith wedding.
Nobody knows where the Smith wedding food is.

By December, the entire operation is running on coffee, sugar, adrenaline and whatever scraps of food somebody shoves into your hand while you’re walking through the kitchen.
Meals become less formal.
“Did you eat?”
“I had half a biscuit at 9:30.”
“That was eight hours ago.”
“I’m fine.”
We are not fine.
We are catering.
There is always one serving spoon missing.
One extension cord nobody can find.
One box nobody remembers packing.
One customer changing something at the last minute.
And one person standing completely still in the middle of the kitchen staring into the distance because their brain has temporarily left the building.

Then someone yells,
“WE HAVE TO LEAVE IN TEN MINUTES.”
And suddenly everybody comes back to life.
We load vans like we are preparing to evacuate a small country.
Food.
Linens.
Serving utensils.
Chafers.
Sterno.
Gloves.
Knives.
Cutting boards.
Backup everything.
And, because we have learned our lesson the hard way, backup for the backup.

Then we get to the event.
And this is the part people never see.
The swearing stops.
Mostly.
The panic disappears.
The food gets uncovered.
The platters get arranged.
The tables get straightened.
Somebody wipes the gravy drip off the edge of a pan.
And suddenly everything looks calm.
Beautiful, even.
Guests walk in.
Dinner is served.
People laugh.
People eat.
Somebody comes over and says,
“You all make this look so easy.”

And every member of the Fish Hawk Acres staff smiles politely while internally replaying the previous three hours.
The missing tongs.
The wrong head count.
The pan that almost got left behind.
The emergency grocery run.
The person screaming, “WHERE IS THE FU***NG CHICKEN?”

But that’s catering.
The job is not for it to be effortless.
The job is to make it look effortless.
Then we pack everything up.
We haul it home.
We wash approximately 14,000 dishes.
We put away the equipment.
We swear we are going to bed.
Then somebody looks at tomorrow’s schedule.
Silence.
A long sigh.
And finally:
“Well...
sh*t.”

Welcome to September through December at Fish Hawk Acres.
Catering season has officially begun.
Pray for us.
And if you see one of us wandering through town in December staring blankly into space...
just hand us coffee.
And maybe some fu***ng butter.

Appalachian by Nature: A Fish Hawk Acres ManifestoWe cook with the seasons.We save bacon grease because throwing it awa...
08/29/2026

Appalachian by Nature: A Fish Hawk Acres Manifesto

We cook with the seasons.
We save bacon grease because throwing it away feels somewhere between wasteful and disrespectful.
We believe pie is perfectly appropriate before noon.
We grow what we can, preserve what we can’t use right away, and start thinking about next year’s garden before this one is finished.
We understand that “a little butter” is not an exact measurement.
We know tomatoes are worth waiting all year for.
We believe beans taste better after they’ve simmered awhile, biscuits should never be counted individually, and there is absolutely no such thing as making too much food.
Because somebody might stop by.
And if they do, we’ll feed them.
That’s just what you do.
\
Around here, food has never been only about feeding hunger.
It’s how we welcome people.
How we celebrate.
How we comfort.
How we remember.
It’s fried chicken after church, jars lined up after a long day of canning, corn cut fresh from the cob, bread cooling on the counter, and somebody standing over a pot saying, “It needs a little something.”
It’s recipes that were never really written down.
A pinch.
A dab.
A good handful.
Cook it until it looks right.

And somehow, generation after generation, we knew exactly what that meant.
We know food tastes better when there’s a story attached to it.
Who grew it.
Who taught you to make it.
Whose kitchen you first ate it in.
Who always made it for Christmas.
Who isn’t here anymore, but somehow still shows up every time you make their recipe.
That’s the thing about Appalachian food.
It carries people with it.

At Fish Hawk Acres, we love beautiful food. We love trying new things. We love borrowing flavors and ideas from far beyond these mountains.
But underneath all of it, our roots are still right here.
In West Virginia soil.
In gardens.
In kitchens.
Around crowded tables.
In the belief that good food doesn’t need to forget where it came from in order to become something new.

So yes...
We cook with seasons.
We save the bacon grease.
We make the pie.
We probably make too much.
And when somebody unexpected walks through the door...
we pull out another chair.
Appalachian by nature.
That’s not a trend around here.
That’s just home.

Address

5 W. Main Street
Buckhannon, WV
26201

Opening Hours

Monday 8am - 4pm
Tuesday 8am - 4pm
Wednesday 8am - 4pm
Thursday 8am - 4pm
Friday 8am - 4pm

Telephone

+13044737741

Website

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