I have no beef with Cracker Barrel.
In fact, I would rather have the grilled chicken tenders.
The recent brouhaha surrounding the Tennessee-based restaurant chain’s attempt to simplify and modernize its logo — which was abruptly reversed due to public backlash — seems to me to be much ado about nothing.
It’s not like the old logo was iconic. Where others seemed to have assigned deep ancestral meaning to the image of an old man with his arm resting on a wooden barrel, I saw only a blob of ink. I feel much more attached to Cracker Barrel dumplings than the chain’s signs along the interstate.
Also, when is the last time anyone ate a cracker from an actual barrel?
… waiting …
Thought so.
For many years, Cracker Barrel was our default family restaurant for out-of-town soccer tournaments. It was so familiar we could order without menus. Pancakes for our younger son. A double order of fried okra for our older son. A chicken tenders plate for me. And a rotating selection of veggies for my late wife, depending on her whim.
(Kennedy: Pause in youth sports causes eerie calm for dad.)
It probably says a lot about us that we considered Cracker Barrel a health-food restaurant. Better than burgers and tacos, maybe. At least it gave the boys a break from the backseat of the SUV and my wife a chance to once again dazzle us with her mastery of the peg game. Meanwhile the boys would trade iPads for checkerboards for an hour, which seemed like a good swap.
When they were younger, they would camp in the “toy corner” checking out the merchandise — including some kind of mechanical animal that chased its tail. Then, they would always beg for hard candy in the checkout line.
Cracker Barrel has been a constant in my life going back to the 1970s. The first of what is now a 650-plus restaurant chain was built in Lebanon, Tennessee, in 1969. The Middle Tennessee city remains home to the corporate headquarters.
There are more than 50 CBs in Tennessee, eclipsed only by Florida and Texas, which are both several times more populous than the Volunteer State. I count five locations within a short drive of downtown Chattanooga, so you could say we all live in the dumpling zone.
Last Sunday, I visited a local Cracker Barrel with a friend to see if we could see any cracks in the barrel. I did notice we were seated immediately at 12:30 p.m. on a Sunday, which I would guess is prime time at CB.
(Kennedy: Introducing the Cracker Barrel of goth stores.)
Everything looked the same, although I did notice the new logo — which has been shelved — could still be seen on some plastic bags and some of the food signage.
This may be ongoing, but my friend and I also noticed changes to the menu. I’m not used to seeing alcohol. Do Cracker Barrel customers really go to grandma’s favorite restaurant for mimosas and glasses of Stella Artois Belgian-style lager?
Some of the food items seem a bit of a stretch, too. The Hash Brown Casserole Shepherd’s Pie ($16) seems like a complicated extrapolation of a classic side dish. In the menu photo it looks like a potato pizza with about 10 toppings and a dollop of sour cream. And the new Big Easy Steak and Shrimp ($23) seems like a refugee from the Red Lobster menu.
While all of this seems different to me, nothing rises to the level of outrage. I want to see Cracker Barrel thrive so I can take my future grandchildren there on soccer trips.
One thing, however, did raise my hackles.
The peg game — i.e. the table game made up of golf tees stuck in a triangle of wood — seems to have evolved by committee. First of all, the newer versions have all blue tees, not the multicolored tees of old. And they are flat on top, which means they will not, under any circumstances, support a golf ball.
More insidious is the change in the grading scale. In the old days, leaving four or more tees was considered shame-worthy, thus the words: “Leave four or more’n you’re just plain Eg-no-ra-moose.” Newer versions say, politely, “Leave four or more — no need to be embarrassed, try again.”
And please accept a lovely participation trophy on your way out.
My late wife would not have been amused.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com.