Illustration by Jamie Douglas
Chain restaurants hold a complicated place in diners’ hearts. Dotting the map from coast to coast in the United States, they’re familiar and nostalgic, the setting of many of our first restaurant experiences, yet undoubtedly the recipients of a little shade. Talking about visiting them — or, gasp, enjoying them — in today’s dining world almost feels a bit naughty: Don’t dare discuss too loudly and only among trusted friends.
In recent months, the Richmond area has seen an influx of chain establishments in the dining mix. Their debuts have been met with a mixed bag of emotions, from excitement surrounding free queso and scoops of ice cream at packed grand-opening events to comment threads on social media cursing chains and their investor-driven existence.
And while the local food scene has only continued to blossom in the past decade and gained recognition as a destination for the culinary curious, what does this influx of businesses that perhaps have small beginnings but now boast big bank accounts mean for Richmond and its dining landscape? How does a restaurant industry that seems to be finding its stride again integrate these less-than-local concepts?
Like almost all aspects of life, there is no clear answer. I’ve typed and deleted and typed and deleted, trying to pinpoint and communicate a conclusion, but there are too many layers, it’s a muddled situation, and we’re on a deadline. During my reflection, I began to reminisce about my own tangled relationships with chain restaurants.
When I first moved to Richmond, I worked at the O’Charley’s on West Broad Street. One of my roommates had landed me a hostess gig, and back then, I was simply happy to get free pie and dinner rolls after working easy four-hour shifts.
The more wide-reaching something we enjoy becomes, the less it feels like ours.
When I was growing up, my uncle was an executive for Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse, which meant that whenever we visited, he and my aunt would take us out to eat at one of the other concepts in the restaurant group. By the time I was 10, I had a standing order at Carrabba’s Italian Grill — the dish remains on the menu decades later — and my brother and I never missed the chance to indulge in a Chocolate Thunder From Down Under brownie sundae at Outback Steakhouse for dessert.
Last year, I found myself at Texas Roadhouse with my boyfriend and his parents. His dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in recent years, and, paired with the pandemic, the four of us had never gone out to eat together the entirety of our relationship. Shortly after ordering, we had to leave. The server responded so kindly, handling the quick switch with ease, packing up our food and making sure we had extra honey butter for our rolls.
And while I will always hold a soft spot for an unlimited bread basket, and I can credit chains for their consistency and for shaping my early dining encounters, it’s difficult to view them in the same light as independent eateries. Coming out of the pandemic and rooting for our favorite restaurants, many of which didn’t make it to the other side, it’s hard not to notice the shift away from local.
For people like me who are embedded in the Richmond food scene, there’s an underlying fear that the corporate momentum will continue and that those special 30-seat refuges with small, scrappy crews striving to create thoughtful dishes will become rarities.
It’s worth noting that we do have a handful of chain restaurants that Richmonders adore, such as Mr. Submarine, the sandwich franchise with a local owner, and Chicken Fiesta, which boasts seven area locations and was started by an area family, along with Lee’s Famous Recipe Chicken, the only one in Virginia. Despite their status, these places still seem to possess that spunky, small-city charm.
Much like the feeling I got upon hearing a song from one of my favorite bands play during a Bud Light commercial, the more wide-reaching something we enjoy becomes, the less it feels like ours. Although there is a beauty in sharing common ground or a favorite dish or song with people all over the country or the world, when entire pockets of our city are filled with businesses that have owners we may never meet, it feels less special, it feels less Richmond.
So, while growth and change are the only constants, and capitalism is undeniable, I’m going to keep my fingers crossed that among the familiar and the ubiquitous, we can also find the unfamiliar and uncommon. That diners will have a favorite employee and seat at the bar at a restaurant that has 50 locations, along with a bartender who doubles as their therapist at a locally owned gem. Maybe we can have our Bloomin’ Onion and our chef’s tasting menus, too.
