On a rainy Monday, I slid into a seat at Cracker Barrel. The chain's new, doomed logo dotted flatware sleeves, the only sign of its widely mocked brand overhaul.
For the astonishingly low price of $10, I got a hefty bowl of chicken and dumplings with green beans and a basket of hot biscuits. In this economy? I hoovered it among the kitschy fishing poles, cast iron skillets and photos of unsmiling settlers. It was easy to block out the noisy roads, vape stores and corporate cubicles outside the Clearwater, Florida, location.
The holiest truth about Cracker Barrel, I pondered over the steaming bowl, is that it's there. All over America, it has been the same. And when sameness is threatened, so are those who crave it.
Unfortunately for shareholders, Cracker Barrel introduced a pared-down, millennial farmhouse energy in the midst of this country's own chaotic rebrand. The original logo featured the so-called Old Timer, based on the founder's Uncle Herschel. He was nixed from the revamp in favor of clean lines. Such apparent Scandinavian minimalism could not withstand an online uprising of haters decrying the change as, you know it, "woke."
The pile-on was full-throated, with MAGA influencers and Republican officeholders alike weighing in. Many were still grouchy from the chain's addition of plant-based meat and recognition of pride month, claiming the business had fallen off its deep-fried, homespun rocker.
President Donald Trump called the backlash "the ultimate Poll." Byron Donalds, Republican candidate for governor of Florida and a former Cracker Barrel employee, wrote on X that he gave his life to Christ in the parking lot. Cracker Barrel corporate gave in, returning to the old logo. Trump quickly took credit, although the official Democratic Party had chimed in to say it hated the rebrand, too.
A fervent right-wing fringe will always pine for more pointed Jim Crow aesthetics, just as they will parrot any position from Trump (who I don't believe for a second has known the joy of hashbrown casserole). But do most customers care about Uncle Herschel? Or does the outcry reflect something deeper?
I personally could not give a fig about a logo or refreshed furniture. What's more interesting is how the tweaks showcased a human need for stability, exposing a vulnerability that those in power exploited for clout. Studies have shown routines contribute to a sense of purpose. Consistency is connected to better health outcomes, which is a fancy way of saying doing things the same helps us not die. That's why confronting change can literally feel like death.
The world is nothing if not changing; why does Cracker Barrel have to?
My family moved from Ohio to Florida when I was 11, so we spent most summers thereafter driving between states. Cracker Barrel tended to pop up along highway exits. If we spotted a towering sign, we were paying a visit.
Cracker Barrel put forth a reliable menu of golden nibbles and distractions for kids with worn-out Metallica CDs. Stick candy, peg games and giant checkers? Bliss.
But it provided an abstract gift, too. On trips marked by sketchy gas stations and lawless weather — once, we got caught in a storm so treacherous my dad flattened a fistful of jellybeans against the wheel — it signaled safety. Or at least the illusion of it.
In the vein of Buc-ee's to follow, Cracker Barrel offered a folksy hug across America. It embraced after-church regulars and retirees. Lo, a Cracker Barrel sat across the parking lot from my stinky Hurricane Milton evacuation hotel. Ordering eggs after the storm felt like mercy.
The illusion of safety can be hard to come by. Who feels calm? Certainly not immigrants, federal workers, LGBTQ+ people or women. Not traditionalists swayed by MAGA's message that everything they hold dear is being taken.
What better way to stall progress than to lead people into breathless battles over Old Timers and Sydney Sweeney's jeans? These distractions create runways for complex grifts to unfold. Taking a stand on Cracker Barrel might feel bold, but it's a form of neglecting more nuanced work, of grabbing the lowest-hanging apple on the Tree of Knowledge and feeding it to followers.
In Cracker Barrel, though, I was reminded that the real world is not the internet. The restaurant was busy with people of all races, ages and abilities having business meetings, celebrating birthdays. Nobody called anyone "woke," only "darlin."
That's what my server said when I asked if I could linger to finish reading an article, one about Trump making an estimated $3.4 billion off his time in office. She said she'd refill my Diet Coke, that she'd be there for hours.
Hours, mmm. I could get the hashbrown casserole! I could stay forever in this buttery fantasy far from the hyperactive headlines, billion-dollar business dealings and political peacocking. But reality always calls.
On the way out, the server passed me an extra biscuit. I paused on the rocking chairs in front of the restaurant. Most were immaculate, but a few were labeled as "comfortably broken-in." They were on sale, their charm dinged and faded by life's harsher elements.
Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.
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