How Perky’s Started Small and Stays Steady
By: Anna Eileen White | Photos by: Ashlee Glen
Just 30 miles south of Lynchburg on Route 29, signs prohibit parking on the side of the road. Drivers may wonder why until they pass on a Saturday night.
An extensive gravel lot wraps around an unassuming grey building directly off the highway. The lot is filled; the difference of five minutes might mean waiting for a spot.
Inside, the conditions are equally snug.
Visitors stand and sit shoulder-to-shoulder in the entryway. They murmur together or squint to decipher the host of military mementos on the walls—many pieces have been gifted by past and present customers.
Once inside, countless license plates from around the world, a signed Kansas City Chiefs jersey, storied taxidermy mounts, and more greet the eye. One mount, “Max the Iguana,” was an original customer’s pet and a frequent visitor at Perky’s. After Max ate Legos to his demise, he was honored with a permanent spot on top of the beer cooler, where he commands an expansive view of the buzzing grill, bar, and dining room.
Founder Lee Perkins (“Perky” to his friends) could never have imagined the landmark this restaurant would become when he relocated from hectic northern Virginia to Altavista, looking for a change.
What was then a floundering hamburger and hotdog joint—complete with a jukebox, pool table, electronic dart boards, and a hefty dose of trouble—was calling his name. Perky and his wife Gay (known fondly as “Miss Gay”) purchased the spot in 1993. The previous owner was facing multiple lawsuits due to frequent rowdy crowds.
Perky, a U.S. Navy veteran and former blackjack dealer, was unfazed.
“He was always about adventures and trying new things,” Gay’s son, Greg Toren, explained. “The only thing he knew about the restaurant business was that 90 percent of them failed in the first couple years.”
Perky immediately ditched the pool table to curb potential arguments between customers.
He started engaging a new customer base with creative incentives, offering the same hamburgers and hotdogs locals had grown to expect, with a side of imported beers and microbrews.
Long before imported beers and microbrews were vernacular, Perky’s big-city experiences crafted his appreciation for more than the handful of domestic beers popular in Altavista at the time.
He initiated a “Beers of the World Club.” Customers received punch cards and sampled Perky’s handpicked liquors—choices from China, Japan, Czech Republic, and Spain, among others—eventually earning a t-shirt representing their accomplishment.
Perky was sharing his passion while attracting much-needed clientele. Visitors began to see him as approachable and readily gave feedback: Altavista wanted a steakhouse.
The very next week, Perky added steaks to the menu.
A master of down-home marketing, Perky found novel ways to promote the new menu item. Using the cardboard from the base of a 24 case of beer, he created 24 bullseyes by drawing x’s in the circle indentations left by the cans. The first 24 customers on Saturday signed their names beside an x before Perky took the target outside. One shotgun shell later, the customer whose x took a pellet closest to the center won a free steak dinner.
Now, more than 30 years later, the steaks speak for themselves. In fact, without a reservation, visitors may not get a seat.
Toren, who has since taken over as owner and grill master, says they see approximately 250 customers filter through their 15 tables on an average Saturday evening.
Particularly fortunate visitors might catch wind of insider advice, reserving a barstool instead of a table.
Toren said that these stools are favorites among regulars, “In my opinion, it’s the best seat in the house.”
The barstools face the open grill, where Toren tends an impressive lineup of steaks, seafood, and weekly specials.
“Everything is fresh, nothing is frozen,” he explained.
Between working licks of flame to the meat’s advantage and seasoning the choice cuts with their famous in-house blended spices, Toren turns away from the grill and leans on the bar, chatting with customers. He asks them how their food tastes and how their kid’s baseball game went.
“People feel at home when they come here,” Toren explained. He said customers love the personal connections they build with the servers, some of
whom have worked here for decades. “I’ve got a great team,” he said, adding that customers often refer to the team’s function as a well-oiled machine.
But things haven’t always been this polished.
Toren recalled the evening he took over the grill after their cook left with no notice, “I was thrown into it on a random Saturday night.”
Armed with a degree in computer programming, some experience working as the previous cook’s assistant, and his personal preference for a medium-rare steak, Toren dove in headfirst (much like Perky had done years earlier).
That was in 2002. “That particular Saturday was a record night,” he reminisced, “I had nothing sent back.” Over time, he perfected his craft with no formal training and without thermometers, instead cooking by feel, trusting his instincts, and listening to customers’ feedback.
“You hear somebody like 65 or 70 years old coming in here and saying ‘Man, that’s the best steak I’ve ever had’ and you know durn well they’ve had a lot of steaks—that makes you feel pretty good,” he said.
He keeps customers coming back by prioritizing quality and consistency. “Everybody knows my cooking style,” he said. “If they came here 10 years ago, it’s gonna be the exact same piece of meat they get today.”
These days, Miss Gay manages the business’s books from home, and Toren manages everything else.
“We do it together,” Toren shared. Perky passed away in 2011 after gradually receding from his usual role due to declining health. Still, Toren is confident he would be proud of everything the restaurant has become.
“If Perky could see it today, I mean, he would just be ecstatic,” Toren remarked, “I know it would make him happy.”
It’s 6:30 p.m., every seat is filled, and voices hum off edge-to-edge license plates. A glance at the scrapbook walls, a conversation with a familiar face, and a whiff of smoke off the grill more than explain the overflowing parking lot.
