The oysters arrived still hissing in their shells, dressed with spinach, pancetta, and cream that caught the light like satin, offset by a scatter of Parmesan breadcrumbs. Frank Stitt’s voice held reverence as he described the new dish to his staff: the brine of the Gulf, the smoke of the pancetta, the richness of cream held in perfect balance—flavors meant to strike guests like a revelation. His words drew them in—his conviction that food could be art.
Birmingham is a food town now. Everyone knows that. Out-of-towners come through for a pilgrimage meal and reminisce about it for years. Talk of restaurants carries the same verve as Saturday football. But forty years ago, that wasn’t the case. There was the Bright Star in Bessemer, beloved, and a scattering of meat-and-threes. Then a chef from Cullman came home to Alabama from kitchens in France and California with an idea: Southern food could be treated with the same reverence as haute cuisine.
When Frank Stitt opened Highlands Bar & Grill in 1982, he set something in motion. Not long after, Pardis Stitt stepped in with her own brilliance—an instinct for hospitality, a gift for seeing every detail, and a vision for what a dining experience could feel like beyond the plate. Their partnership set off a movement. What followed wasn’t a ripple but a rising tide: countless chefs, farmers, bakers, sommeliers, and bartenders who passed through their restaurants are now making their own indelible mark on Birmingham. Today, the city’s culinary scene is less a single tree rooted in Highlands than a sprawling grove, alive with new growth and branching influence.
This is that story, told not by the Stitts themselves but by the chefs, farmers, and restaurateurs who carry their imprint—sometimes in the dishes they serve, sometimes in the way they extend hospitality before the first plate arrives.
“I never wanted to go to culinary school,” explains Mauricio Papapietro. “My approach was to try to work for the best chefs that I could get to. I bought the textbooks from the big culinary schools and devoured every piece of information that I could.” That self-driven path eventually carried him into the orbit of Frank and Pardis Stitt—at both Highlands and Bottega.
“What I learned from Frank was how to run a business, the attention to detail—from the service to the food to the menu design to crafting words the right way,” Papapietro says. From Pardis, he absorbed something else entirely: “Her attention to detail is unrivaled. She will notice everything in a room within 30 seconds. She’s able to pull the best out in people without ever being derogatory.”
Papapietro went on to open Birmingham’s Brick & Tin, where a brisket sandwich that takes five days to prepare arrives at the table in ten minutes. He calls it “slow food meets fast food.” Fifteen years later, he still looks back to Highlands and Bottega. “It’s amazing to me how, after all these years, the level of execution has not faltered at all. That speaks to them and how they run things.”
Brian Mooney got his first taste of the culinary world at an Italian restaurant in Florida. As an aspiring young chef, he was still searching for his path when he met Erin in Fort Lauderdale. She had grown up in Birmingham and attended John Carroll High School, just down the street from Bottega. “In college, we hung out there all the time,” she says. “It was our place.”
One night, a young chef named Frank Stitt caught Brian’s attention on PBS. Erin already knew his restaurants by heart. So when the two fell in love, Birmingham naturally became part of their future. “One of the reasons we wanted to move to Birmingham was so Brian could work for Frank,” Erin explains.
That hope became reality through Erin’s close friend from high school, John Rolen, who was working at Bottega and helped Brian get his start there. Before long, he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the chef who had first inspired him through a television screen. “His care and love for food is overwhelming,” Brian says. “It wasn’t all about the business—it was about the food. Frank just bleeds food. The way he could explain a dish made you fall in love with it—even if you’d never cooked it yourself. He was a teacher, and you didn’t want to miss the lesson.”
Erin, too, was shaped by the Stitt world. She spent a summer at Highlands, working as a hostess alongside Pardis. “She taught me so much about the value of poise, charm, and confidence," Erin says, "and she has remained a mentor in my life when it comes to the true meaning of hospitality."
Together, Erin and Brian now run Tre Luna Bar & Kitchen and Tre Luna Catering, recently serving 800 guests at KultureBall, one of Birmingham’s most dazzling evenings. Frank and Pardis were there, taking it all in. Frank pulled Brian aside to express his admiration for the way they had carried off the evening and later struck up a conversation about a new way he’d discovered to prepare vegetables on a recent trip to Greece. It was quintessential Frank—generous with praise, brimming with ideas, always eager to share the joy of food.
Meanwhile, Rolen—now executive chef and partner at Slim’s Pizzeria—had worked his way from the line to chef de cuisine, a position he held for 19 years. “One of the most magnificent things about working with Frank was his immense knowledge of food and wine,” Rolen recalls. “Every day was a learning experience for everyone involved. We shared every detail with each other, and it created such a strong and sincere work environment to be a part of.”
Chris Hastings calls Highlands’ opening in 1982 “the nuclear fission moment. That’s when the culinary universe of Birmingham, Alabama, was born.” He arrived three years later. “I was lucky enough to be there so early. Frank mentored us, he taught us, and we carried that forward.”
Hastings stayed six years in two stretches before striking out with his own culinary voice at Hot & Hot Fish Club and later Ovenbird. Today, he’s a James Beard Award winner and one of Birmingham’s most recognized chefs, yet he speaks readily of the lessons from his days at Highlands. “I remember Frank’s commitment to the very best ingredients—fish, meat, produce, anything he could get his hands on. He approached it through a French lens and Southern supply. Impeccable ingredients, classic technique, Southern flavors. And then, it had to taste delicious.”
Hastings believes Birmingham draws top culinary talent because its leading chefs mentor the passionate young people who step into their kitchens—shaping the next generation and carrying forward a legacy of excellence. “I don’t mentor everybody. But when I see grit and passion in a young chef’s eyes, I’ll drop every ounce of knowledge I have into them—just like my mentors did for me,” he says. “I’m Generation Two, because I came out of Gen One. Now I’m training twenty-year-olds, and they’ll be Gen Three. It’s generation after generation, each finding their own voice on the plate.”
Jesús Méndez felt completely out of place when he first arrived at Highlands. “They shouldn’t have hired me. I don’t know why they did. But they saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself,” he says. “Coming from chips and salsa my entire career, then trying to sell bottles of Chablis…it was so hard to adapt.” He even tried to quit, but Pardis stopped him. “She listened to me and made me feel more valuable than I thought I was.”
That changed the course of his life. Today, Méndez runs four Birmingham establishments, including Salud, where he regularly gets to see the Stitts enjoying his fare. “Everything here is intentional. I don’t just toss things on a plate. Every ingredient has a purpose,” he says. The influence extends to all aspects of running his business. “I still use Pardis’ guidance when leading and training my staff.”
Ryan and Geri-Martha O’Hara of Big Spoon Creamery describe the lessons they learned from the Stitts as if they happened yesterday. “Chef always started with the basics,” Geri-Martha says. “A tart shell had to be properly caramelized. Fundamentals mattered. Respect the ingredient, let it shine. From there, you can innovate.”
Her blackberry pistachio praline semifreddo, as well as the brioche bun she created for the celebrated Fon Fon Burger, were developed in Bottega’s kitchen, and Frank, of course, was among the first to taste both. “His eyes would light up when something worked—but when it didn’t, the correction was never harsh. He’d say, ‘What if we tried it this way?’ And on the rare occasion that someone made a mistake in the kitchen, the next day was a clean slate. No grudges. That taught me a lot about grace and influences the way we communicate with our own team.”
When the couple began dreaming up their own ice cream venture, they shared their idea with the Stitts, who were immediately encouraging. “Birmingham needs an artisan, farm-focused ice cream shop,” Geri-Martha remembers Frank saying. And when Big Spoon Creamery took shape from a cart in Pepper Place, Pardis showed up as one of their very first customers. She ordered a cup of mint chip—then told anyone and everyone how delicious it was. The Stitts were also one of their first catering orders, adding Big Spoon Creamery to the menu of their annual employee farm party. “To see our ice cream there, for the people who shaped us—it meant the world,” Geri-Martha says.
Ryan, who rose from the café line to sous chef at Chez Fonfon, respects the Stitts’ commitment to excellence: “They had relentless standards. Unwavering. Whether it was the food, the cleanliness, the way we treated guests—nothing was negotiable. That’s why their legacy has lasted. At the same time, you knew they cared.”
He remembers Pardis calling him into her office and consoling him over the death of his grandfather. Another time, he found himself there moments after mouthing off to a front-of-house manager, where Pardis explained in no uncertain terms that “We don’t treat people that way.” “I needed that as a young chef,” Ryan says. “Pardis modeled how to lead with care and compassion, while also holding us accountable and pushing us to be our very best. That balance is how we try to lead now.”
Recently, the O’Haras added another branch to their growing legacy, purchasing Pizza Grace, Birmingham’s beloved sourdough pizza company, in late May. “It’s been a lot of fun to get back to my roots in savory cooking and running a full-scale restaurant,” Ryan says.
Jonathan Sealy of Local 39 started at Highlands in 1999, first on kitchen prep before stepping behind the bar one night to cover a shift. “I never went back into the kitchen after that,” he says.
What he carried forward over the next 20 years was about much more than cocktails. “Chef and Pardis were focused on creating an exceptional guest experience. People might forget a specific dish or glass of wine, but they’ll remember the way they felt in the room. We knew it could be intimidating for a first-time guest, so we wanted them to feel at home as soon as they sat down.”
That sense of welcome stayed with him when he opened his own place in Homewood in 2020. “They instilled a serious work ethic in all of us—no detail overlooked, no job too small for anyone to do.”
The fondest stories from his years with the Stitts, he says, are best shared over a glass of wine.
For farmer Trent Boyd, the story begins in Cullman. His father sold produce to Frank at the Alabama Farmers Market on Finley Avenue. “My dad was always so proud that Frank was from Cullman,” Boyd says. Years later, Frank invited him to bring heirloom tomatoes by Highlands, which marked the beginning of the restaurant’s relationship with Boyd Harvest Farm.
“The Stitts are true believers in farm-to-table,” Boyd says now. “When I deliver, I see numerous farmers coming in the back door. They care about the chef–farmer relationship and understand that the greatest food comes from the best local sources.” Boyd’s children help with deliveries, always leaving with pizza or dessert. “Those small moments create lasting memories.”
Brian Somershield remembers the farmers, too. He recalls Frank calling him over in the middle of prep to meet a farmer and see the baby radishes and fennel they’d be preparing that night. “Frank brought me the understanding and the perspective of where food comes from and why that matters,” he says.
Somershield hadn’t planned on moving to Birmingham—a serendipitous golf trip with friends brought him to town. But after a meal at Highlands, he started planning his move. “Had I not taken that trip, I would never have ended up in Birmingham, Alabama,” he says. “A random golf trip is the reason that I am here, and the reason that El Barrio and Paramount are here.”
Dean Robb of Blueprint on 3rd is the longstanding witness. “The Stitts are the Camelot of the restaurant business,” says Robb, who has known them since the early ’90s. Frank asked him to take the reins at Bottega in 1991, and he stayed for 17 years. Since then, he’s been building restaurants of his own.
Their friendship extended beyond the dining room. When one was working late during the summer, the other kept the children. “We raised our kids alongside each other,” Robb says. “They’re part of the family now.”
The kitchen lessons proved as lasting. “Frank changed the way I thought about food,” Robb explains. “You don’t write a menu first and then order ingredients. You start with the best ingredients you can find, and let them shape the menu. If it isn’t perfect, it doesn’t go on the plate.”
Even now, he and the Stitts trade calls and ideas, the conversation looping across decades with easy respect. “They’ve touched almost everything in Birmingham’s culinary world,” Robb says. “Their influence is everywhere.”
Marco Butturini of Le Fresca, a former front-of-house man, puts it this way: “When Frank talked, I’d tell people, ‘shut up and listen. This is a privilege. Write it down. You may not use it tomorrow, but it will come back to you.’” Butturini has worked with some of the best chefs in the world, yet what struck him most was the way Frank and Pardis moved as a pair—Frank in the kitchen, Pardis in the dining room—working gracefully in tandem to orchestrate a ballet-like dining experience from start to finish.
Phillip Crowe, co-owner of Bygones Cocktail Bar, remembers his first night at Highlands, when Frank came into the kitchen where he was polishing silver and made a lasting first impression. “Watching Frank walk up to every person in the building and ask how they’re doing—that was incredible,” he recalls. He once looked up from slicing limes to see Frank standing in front of him with two black eyes he’d gotten playing polo and a grin. “He wore them like a badge of honor,” Crowe laughed. Another night, he recalls Frank cradling a magnum of 1988 Krug Champagne, abuzz with delight about offering something so rare to guests that night. “He’s as passionate about a radish from a small farm as he is about a beautiful bottle of Krug Champagne.”
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Forty-three years after the founding of Highlands Bar & Grill, Birmingham’s food scene is thriving, diverse, renowned, and growing. What began with one Cullman-born chef and his belief that Southern food deserved reverence has grown into something larger than a restaurant, larger than an award. The legacy of the Stitts is measured in the hands of the farmers at the back door, the cooks who still hear Frank urging them to taste each dish, and the guests who walk away feeling cared for.
“We’ve kind of created a problem of our own making,” Hastings says with a grin. “Now we’re a food city. Good luck competing in this town, because we compete with anyone.”
He’s quick to credit Birmingham itself. “This is a creative place. The soil here is not bare—it is rich with people who appreciate what you do as an artisan, a musician, a chef. You can plant a seed in Birmingham and it grows, because people here care. This city appreciates great food, art, and music—and always has.”
And if restaurateurs across the city share a final refrain, it’s gratitude. “The people of Birmingham have supported us, and that’s why we’re here,” Hastings says. “You can sustain a restaurant in this town for decades because people truly appreciate great food. And that tells you all you need to know.”
Styling by Prashant Yay