Mya’s Soul Food in West Valley City does not have a website. It does not need one. For the better part of a decade, the restaurant has filled its dining room almost entirely by word of mouth, which is either a business strategy or a miracle, depending on how hungry you were the first time someone told you about it.
Myra Holloway opened the place on 3500 South after years of cooking out of her home kitchen for church functions, family reunions, and anyone who showed up at her door with a reasonable excuse. The transition to a brick-and-mortar was, by her own telling, her daughter’s idea. Myra maintains she was coerced. She also shows up at 6 a.m. every day to start the greens.
The collard greens are, without exaggeration, the reason people drive across the valley. They’ve been simmering since before you woke up — low and slow, with smoked turkey neck instead of ham hocks, which Myra will tell you is the correct way if you give her an opening. She’ll also tell you that most people don’t know the difference, which is why most people’s greens are mediocre. This is not said unkindly. It is simply said.
The menu is short and doesn’t change much. Fried catfish on Fridays, oxtail when she feels like making it (call first), mac and cheese that is baked, not boiled into submission, and cornbread that arrives in a cast-iron wedge and is gone before anything else on the plate. The fried chicken is the anchor — half a bird, well-seasoned under the skin, with a crust that stays put. Lunch runs $12 to $16 for a plate with two sides. Dinner edges a little higher if you’re going for the oxtail.
The dining room seats maybe thirty people. There are photos on the wall that appear to be family, though Myra has never formally confirmed this. A regular named Curtis has occupied the same corner table every Saturday for what he describes as “longer than my second marriage,” which he offers as a compliment to the restaurant rather than a commentary on the marriage. He orders the smothered pork chops every time. He has never tried anything else. He sees no reason to start.
West Valley City has no shortage of places to eat. It has Mexican food that rivals anything in Salt Lake proper, Vietnamese spots that locals have been going to for twenty years, and the occasional newcomer that generates a few months of Instagram interest before settling into anonymity. Soul food done at this level, though, is rarer. Mya’s occupies a specific, uncontested lane.
The hours are Wednesday through Sunday, roughly 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., though “roughly” is doing real work in that sentence. If Myra runs out of something, service ends early. If something needs more time, the doors open late. A handwritten sign on the door once read “Back at 1:30” at 2:15 on a Thursday. Nobody left.
Cash is preferred. Parking is off the strip mall lot out front. Go hungry, because the portions are sized for people who have been working since morning, and bring someone you like, because the food is too good to eat alone and Myra will probably come talk to your table anyway.
