Stock Provisions Review - A Charlottesville Butcher Shop With The Goods to Dethrone an Idol

Note to readers: the following article may deeply offend those in the Charlottesville, VA community. I do not apologize for my words.

I’ve been trying to make a concerted effort recently in my life to engage in things I’ve missed out on, which is why I ended up in Charlottesville, VA for the day to do something I’ve ashamedly never done in the three decades I’ve lived in Virginia: visit Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.

I know it’s crazy that I’ve never been. It’s dogged me for years. But I’m a man of culture now with a food blog, and I can totally write off the expenses incurred on a trip to the home of the Father of Mac and Cheese, so here we are.

Monticello was great. Very well-organized set up with a shuttle that takes you from the visitor center to his home to his grave and back. I spotted a lovely walking trail that I would have liked to have taken advantage of if the air wasn’t contaminated with Canada’s smoke pollution that day. Unhealthy to be outside exerting oneself, I was told. Where was that excuse all my life when I actually wanted it?

The tour of his home and his grounds was illuminating. I especially loved the woman in my tour group asking if the patch of grass in his front yard seen below is his grave. Yeah lady, they buried our nation’s third President next to a fire hydrant.

The Jefferson interpreter was top notch. He made a reference to “The Room Where It Happened”. I giggled. The rest of the room didn’t seem to get it. A shared moment between me and TJ.

Anyway, this article is not about that. It’s about what I did prior to visiting that racist ol’ bag of bones.

I heard through the grapevine that there was a butcher shop in town that makes ham biscuits drizzled with hot honey every morning from 9am-12pm until supplies last. Stock Provisions on Main Street. They had me at ham biscuits!

And so the night before, having heard these biscuits do regularly sell out, I pre-purchased a ham biscuit from a butcher shop in a city I don’t live in a day before I intended on being there. The practice I must admit feels strange to me. Just better anticipate the needs of your biscuit-hungered clientele!

I arrived at about 9:30am the next morning into town, and perused the store. I don’t want to seem too eager. I don’t know what the vibe is here. All I know is my biscuit’s in the back, set aside for me or something. I don’t know. It seems silly that I felt compelled to reserve a ham biscuit.

The shop is lovely. A very fine array of pork products—chops, steaks, shanks, sausages, and offal. The beef selection is beautiful, with that lovely golden fat characteristic of grass fed cattle. A charcuterie station with accompanying nuts and cheeses. It’s not a huge shop, but I found myself lost in there for some time looking around.

Behind the counter is wide open, and everything seems to be prepared in plain view. I liked that. Make my meats a show.

There was a pretty large staff contingent buzzing around, assisting an already significant crowd so early in their day. I finally decided it was time, and I walked up to the counter to let them know in my most regal of voices that I had arrived for my reserved ham biscuit. The guy went in the back to retrieve my goods.

In the meantime while I waited I noticed something rather peculiar: other people came in and announced they too had biscuits on reserve (which made me feel less silly, so that was good), but they were all asked if they wanted it hot or cold—a question I was not asked. And if they weren’t asked, they freely and knowingly specified their preference. And even weirder: every single one of them wanted it cold.

What the Hell is that about? Who wants a freshly made biscuit cold? I guess they suppose it’ll lose its temperature on the way home? Who cares? I’m not paying by the temp. Zhuzh it up!

I’ve always felt there was something off about these Charlottesville people. I mean, Exhibit A, am I right?

A few minutes after my guy disappeared into the back, he comes back with my biscuit in a box. It’s warm to the touch (a net negative I guess for the other people in this store, but I couldn’t be more pleased). I find a seat by the front, and I tuck in.

The biscuit is huge. Imagine a normal-sized biscuit, cut in half and some ham in the middle. This was more like two biscuits. And a few ounces of thinly shaved ham slathered in a delicious hot honey wedged in between.

It’s simple and sticky and warm, and it’s everything I was promised and more. There’s no grand design; it’s straightforward in its construction. Three elements that all work in perfect tandem to create a perfect mid-morning meal. I don’t want to be hyperbolic when it’s not earned. But in this case, every ounce of praise is earned.

The biscuit is light and flaky. Buttery, soft. The ham works because of the hot honey, and the hot honey works because of the ham. They complement each other so well with the sweet heat and the smokiness of the Tasso ham.

And this is the part where I get myself in trouble with the good people of Charlottesville. Well, other than when I called their idol a racist bag of bones. The ham biscuit at Stock Provisions clears Bodo’s Bagels.

For the uninitiated, Bodo’s Bagels is a perfectly fine bagel shop that has managed to burrow deep inside the minds of Charlottesville residents, and attach itself to the part of their brains that controls rational logic. To the point where they will wait in line for sometimes up to an hour on a weekend morning for a bagel that they’ve convinced themselves is better than it is.

I had a friend who has drank the Bodo’s Bagels Kool Aid tell me—while we stood in a forty-minute line to get a bagel—that Bodo’s is known for how efficiently the line moves. It wasn’t moving very fast. I mean the delusion around Bodo’s knows no bounds.

Every thread about where I should eat in Charlottesville on forums like Reddit was filled with at least 10% of the comments suggesting Bodo’s.

I am not a hater. It’s a good bagel. But get a grip.

I think what happened (and this is all conjecture from my day at Monticello, so take it with a grain of salt) was that for the longest time, the twinkle in Charlottesville’s eye was their boy on the hill. But at some point the tide turned on him when the rumors about his illegitimate slave children were indeed proven true. And that was icky, so they had to find a new idol.

And Bodo’s had been around for a while and people liked it well enough, so it only made sense that the indoctrination engine at the University of Virginia would shift gears towards a well-enough liked inoffensive bagel shop.

But I’m not a hater.

Stock Provisions’ ham biscuit is just way better. And if I may be so bold: here is an idol actually worth celebrating. Just for the love of God, ask for it warm.