Phil lauds Cracker Barrel’s retreat from its logo redesign and restaurant-remodeling plan.

As I wrote previously, I had a bigger problem with the restaurant remodeling than with the new logo, as the sanitized redesign replaced the old nostalgic charm with a soulless corporate feel.

Hopefully the chain can now focus on the food and service at existing restaurants, and put an end to our long national nightmare.

I’m exasperated by these Cracker Barrel takes. I love and respect all my National Review colleagues, but I must say that the only reason Phil is nostalgic for Cracker Barrel is that he’s a Yankee.

Phil’s pining over Cracker Barrel, of all things, would compare in its tragedy only to a conviction such as, say, that Sbarro offers the best New York–style pizza that money can buy. He’d call me crazy if I pronounced such a thing. Indeed! But that’s why I must stand up for genuine Southern homestyle cooking.

Phil likes Cracker Barrel because it offers a consistent road-trip breakfast. But there’s no reason anyone should ever settle on Cracker Barrel’s limp pancakes and tasteless hash browns while road-tripping. This is the United States of America! It’s 2025. When were we sentenced to gruel and hardtack while driving through our own country?

Every American has the opportunity, with a quick Google search, to find the best local, family-owned diner or dive as he or she approaches the next town down the highway. It might be ten minutes from the interstate, but if you’re in a huge hurry, why are you sitting down at the absurdly slow Cracker Barrel and its tchotchke shop at all? For a family, that’s going to take you an hour, minimum. (If it’s speed you need, Chick-fil-A is the choice.)

Better yet — stop for gas and ask the guy behind the counter for his recommendation. Sure, there’s a chance that the food will be as middling as, well, Cracker Barrel. But it’s far more likely that you’ll be directed to that gem on Main Street, owned by the same family since 1958, with its famous thin waffles and homemade maple sausage, which you’ll remember the next time you’re driving through Elmira, N.Y., or Santa Fe, N.M., or Tulsa, Okla., or wherever else you happen to be. You’re never going to get that with the counterfeit down-home nostalgia of a Cracker Barrel in view of the interstate.