Brothers and Survivors
BY KURT DUSTERBERG
PHOTOS BY JESSICA BRATTON
It is late morning at Crawford Brothers Steakhouse in Cary, and Scott Crawford is already in motion.While the kitchen staff tends to food prep and deliveries, the acclaimed chef and entrepreneur chats with his chef de cuisine in the dining room. The front of the house is immaculate, each table set for the evening’s dinner service. Natural light fills the room. Moments later, he walks past a sous chef at a workstation and pats him on the arm. Each greets the other with a friendly, “Hello, chef.”
On this day, Crawford is showing a guest to a special attraction in the restaurant, which adorns the wall across from the restrooms. The placement is unmistakably amusing, so he says with a smile, “Everyone is going to use the restroom. Give them something nice to look at.”
The installation of art features photos of Crawford and his older brother, Steve. One picture shows them together as children. Two other images are mug shots, one of each brother, all made abstract by Raleigh sculptor and painter Thomas Sayre. In between are American flags, produced by Raleigh Denim. Crawford calls the exhibit “American Made.”
It is along this wall that guests can glean a bit about Crawford’s past, a story that is acutely distressing. His childhood was upended by a volatile family life that led to two decades of drug abuse and criminal behavior. Through it all, he somehow held onto the notion of the American dream.
“This is something we truly were taught and believed in as kids,” he says. “That dream has happened, but the journey was very different—very flawed, very tattered, very scarred. We wanted to portray that in the artwork. It’s not at all clean and shiny.”
Crawford, a 2025 James Beard Award semifinalist for Outstanding Restaurateur, had a banner year in 2024, opening Brodeto, Sous Terre, Crawford’s Genuine and Crawford Brothers Steakhouse, joining the flagship Crawford and Son in his restaurant portfolio.
As he sits at a table in the dining room, Crawford is at peace sharing the details of an unruly young life, one he left behind two decades ago. His words are gentle and assured. “I wanted to release that shame and say, hey, this is what happened, this is my life. And it’s OK,” he says. “I’m trying to help others get rid of that shame if they’re suffering.”
Crawford’s difficulties began just before his teen years, growing up in Pittsburgh while his parents were going through a divorce. “It was very bad—throwing things, screaming, breaking things,” he says. “We were unsupervised a lot. I don’t know where they were when we were doing a lot of the things we were doing.”
The upheaval crowded out more pleasant memories. “I remember quite a lot of happiness,” Crawford says. “I remember a garden and eating Swiss chard and turnips and things other kids didn’t like that I thought were delicious and fascinating.”
In those early years, Scott had a traditional relationship with his older brother. They were two years apart and enjoyed riding dirt bikes, hunting and fishing. But things changed when their parents’ relationship soured. “We were mischievous at first,” Crawford says. “Then it turned into more rebellion when things changed in our family dynamic. He was in a lot more trouble than I was most of the time. I just followed. I took my first drink at age 11. He gave it to me. He was drinking at 13. That same year, I remember trying marijuana the first time, at 11.”
During Scott’s junior year in high school, Steve was arrested for what Scott calls “a careless spree of drunken crimes.” Felony charges for car theft, burglary, vandalism and property destruction left Steve facing years in prison. But their grandparents put up their house to secure a bail bond and get Steve out of prison and into a rehab facility. A year later, he received a 10-year suspended sentence.
Meanwhile, Scott had been arrested twice for underage drinking. He was kicked out of the house and spent most of his senior year living in a friend’s basement. When he graduated, he headed to Florida and found a job bussing tables and washing dishes. But when a kitchen worker missed a shift, Crawford was told to grab an apron. He remembers breading shrimp—but with a purpose. “I didn’t do it sloppily,” he says. “The very first time I was in the kitchen, it was obvious. I certainly have OCD to a point that sometimes it’s even a little bit hard for me to manage, but it came through in how I cooked. People noticed the way I preferred to keep my station, the way that I chose the sharpest knife so that I could make a cleaner cut on the lemons and make them look nicer. I enjoyed the mechanics of cooking, working with my hands.”
But restaurant culture proved a bad fit. “Shift drinks”—the free alcohol often served to restaurant employees at the end of an evening—were just the start. “Most days I had a moderate to severe hangover from the night before, but you’d have a few hours before you had to be there. You’d go in at 4 p.m., and you’d leave with a pocketful of cash.”
Soon he began selling weed to the staff. “I think that’s why they liked me,” he says flatly.
In one restaurant job, Crawford stumbled into another temptation. “In the early days as a server, I would receive a cash bank to make change so you didn’t have to go to the register every time,” he says. “The cash bank consisted of enough money to buy a gram of cocaine. So I would use the bank to go buy a gram (from an employee) and use it throughout the shift—just hoping I didn’t have to make any change until I got some more cash.”
The work and the drugs synched up easily. “It was more of a nice, smooth buzz. Everyone knew not to cross the line at work. That was for after work.” And for a time, it was manageable. “It starts out as, ‘This is great.’ I’m 19 years old, I have a fake ID, I get my drugs for free, and I have a gig with a bunch of fun people. It’s fun until it’s not.”
Eventually, Crawford put himself through culinary school in Tampa, but his drug habit still had a grip on his life. In 2003, Crawford was working at a Ritz-Carlton restaurant in Amelia Island, Florida. “That was hard living, working extremely hard. Six or seven days a week, garbage salaries and really hard partyin’ and hard druggin’. It took its toll on my body and my mind. It was wrecking me.”
He ended up in the hospital after an autoimmune episode. “My pancreas was no longer working. My blood sugar was 800. I was literally walking around dying.”
Despite being promoted to executive chef at the restaurant, his drug use continued. After a weeklong bender, he saw Steve, who warned his brother he appeared on the verge of dying. Scott went to his first AA meeting the next day. Last October, he celebrated 20 years of sobriety.
Crawford’s Raleigh era began at The Umstead Hotel and Spa in 2009, where he served as executive chef at Herons for five years. That stint began the path to today’s success. He employs close to 200 people at the Crawford Hospitality properties. By design, the restaurants steer clear of the culture that played a role in his downfall.
“The number one thing we do is eliminate alcohol consumption by our staff within the four walls of any restaurant,” he says. “We do not reward people with alcohol for good work. We reward them with compensation, and on Saturdays we will do a family meal.”
At the same time, the chef emphasizes what brings many restaurant workers to the industry in the first place. “It literally attracts anyone who is willing to do hard work and care about someone else,” Crawford says. “I think it’s a beautiful thing that we can spend those hours during service being concerned about others and their experience. You can get a great adrenaline rush from an awesome service. It’s magical.”
Crawford is a board member with Raleigh’s Healing Transitions and Ben’s Friends, nonprofits that support those seeking sobriety. The latter organization works specifically with hospitality workers. “I have started to think about that even more as I age and mature—my impact on a community, more than just earning a living,” he says.
Back in the restaurant’s hallway, Crawford is sizing up the artwork, searching for the words to describe its significance. He recalls that Steve was 18 years old in his mug shot, while Scott’s came at age 22, along with charges of disorderly conduct and driving under the influence.
“This is a tribute to brotherhood and renewal and rebirth,” he says. “I guess it’s almost a second life of doing good, living right and being sober.”
Those sentiments apply to Steve, too. Scott’s brother lives in Florida, where he is a regional manager for an emergency services company that rebuilds communities after disasters. The brothers get together every few months. Most recently they met in Georgia to ride motorcycles.
“I’m happy and grateful,” Crawford says. “Part of being in recovery is having gratitude for the things you have each day. It is a privilege to be alive right now, considering the things I did in my life. Everything in life is very fragile. Nothing is guaranteed. I think of that every day of my life.”
For more on Scott Crawford, read our online article “Scott Crawford’s Answer to Wanderlust” about his professional journey from bussing tables to decorated chef and entrepreneur.
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