We've had enough of this tourist trap Southern food. It's not that we don't like the fundamental dishes (we love 'em), but we're done with having mediocre versions of the classics foisted upon us.
Farmerbrown is not "bad," per se, but man are there some egregiously mediocre versions of the classics being foisted upon us.
Crime 1: 45-degree ribs. Dude, it's ribs. They are not supposed to taste like they came out of the fridge. The potato salad on the side does not exactly bring it either.
Crime 2: Chewy, gummy, bland waffles. These are about a step-and-a-half above Eggo. We know people lose their sh*t over chicken and waffles of any kind, but this is weak.
Were the fried chicken not delicious, we'd describe Farmerbrown as a pure tourist trap...for locals...locals pretending to be tourists, in the South. You get the idea. But the chicken is so, so good, we'll spare that indictment. Is that the only thing the kitchen is putting any effort into? Guess they know their audience, since 80% of pictures online from this place feature the chicken.
The decor? It's pretty kitschy, which definitely reinforces the "jazz club in Disneyland New Orleans Square" vibe.
Our recommendation: if you go, have the fried chicken and avoid the rest. Or, even better, head to Farmerbrown's chicken-focused offshoot Little Skillet, where you won't be tempted to order anything other than the bird.
Cold. COLD. Good as leftovers, I guess?
Not particularly tangy, mustardy, spicy — whatever you're looking for in exceptional potato salad, this doesn't have it.
The only thing worth getting, methinks. Hot, moist, crispy skin, the whole ballgame.
Lame. Also apparently they serve a brunch buffet here. If you sign up for that, you are looking for a bag of hurt.