The Taste Bud: Revisiting Memories of Po Folks Restaurant

‘Chicken-fried’ chicken, anyone? And watch out for those potatoes. Courtesy of Po Folks

Who remembers Po Folks restaurant? I recently got into a conversation with a friend about the place and later decided to do a little research. You know what? Po Folks still exists.

More on that later.

For the uninitiated, Po Folks was sort of a Cracker Barrel clone and was named after the 1961 country song of the same name by artist Bill Anderson. (Interestingly, the owner of the chain didn’t acquire rights to use the name Po Folks; at one point Anderson threatened to sue the chain but later would become a spokesperson. Ain’t it great when life works out?)

Po Folks marketed to a post-Depression crowd, serving up homestyle dishes like chicken gizzards, fried fish, turnip greens and the like. At one point, I believe they served up “chicken-fried” chicken, although I also recall the phrasing “blue ribbon fried chicken.” Seemingly, gravy was served with everything, as well as big, fluffy biscuits. A slogan printed on the menu read, “We’re PO but we’re proud!” Literally, it was a restaurant aimed at people who identified with being, well, poor.

As the writer of the Broken Chains blog wrote, one probably wouldn’t choose “poverty” as a theme for a restaurant these days, but Po Folks really did aim for the stuff your grandparents grew up on, and it took it to a quirky extreme at times. But homespun cheesiness worked for Po Folks in its day, as a lone restaurant in South Carolina became a chain that grow to more than 100 locations.

I recall red checkered tablecloths, fun signs and antiques hanging on the walls. You were greeted with a sign at the host station that read, “Wait right cheer fer the seater.” Restrooms were labeled “Men folks” and “Women folks.” Even today, appetizers are called “appetizements,” and sandwiches are called “samwiches.” You get the idea.

My parents loved the place. I seem to recall the first or second time we went as a family, we took my grandparents, who were Depression babies. They loved it too. So, it became a staple to go to the Po Folks that was located at 701 E Highway 131 in Clarksville, Ind., where we lived.

I mean, let’s face it, living in a small town as I did, the arrival of Po Folks, this unique and welcoming franchise, was kind of a big deal, so the place was always packed. Lines were long to get seated. Employees greeted guests by saying “howdy,” and all drinks were served in Mason jars. It was … quaint, if a bit forced.

When I turned 16, one of my high school crushes, Lisa, got a job at Po Folks. When that happened, I was all too eager to dine there any chance I got. If my parents decided to go, I always joined them. I was transfixed the first time Lisa, with her lovely brown eyes and auburn hair, walked up to our table, smiled and chirped, “Howdy!” That moment in time is forever burned in my memory.

A few years later, Po Folks offered an all-you-can-eat chicken special. My dad was (and still is) a fried chicken connoisseur, which is to say he really likes to eat fried chicken. A LOT. So, we went for the special and began trying to one-up each other. My poor Mom patiently sat there eating her salad or whatever she’d ordered, watching us put a serious dent in the area’s chicken population. Seriously, I feel sure that on that day, there were chickens in neighboring counties who felt nervous and uncomfortable, and they didn’t even know why.

By the time we got through our seventh or eighth piece of chicken, our server was only bringing us one piece each at a time, and it was always a wing or a thigh. At one point, my mom asked for a refill on her sweet tea, and the server said, “Are you having fun watching this chicken-eating derby?”

My father, who came in at around 6 feet tall and 200 pounds at the time, ultimately downed 13 pieces of chicken. I tapped out at 12. Between Dad and me, that meal remains the stuff of legend.

A couple more years passed, and I got married. Po Boys was no longer a frequent destination, but knowing it was no longer difficult to get a table, we stopped in for dinner one night. My then-wife found a hair in her salad; I found – get this – a shrimp in my mashed potatoes. How does a shrimp even get near mashed potatoes in a restaurant kitchen? I am baffled to this day. It would turn out to be my last visit to that, or any, Po Folks restaurant.

Krystal, the hamburger chain that mimics White Castle, purchased the Po Folks chain in the mid-80s. By 1988, Po Folks had filed for bankruptcy as the novelty apparently wore off and, in the early 1990s, the Clarksville Po Folks closed. It was replaced by a restaurant called Scotty’s Hamburgers. Today, a small retail center sits on the old Po Folks property.

And as noted, Po Folks still exists in the form of six locations in the Florida panhandle. Same menu, same cheesy marketing and product naming. You can even open a franchise if you want to invest in a bit of culinary history. I kind of want to take my dad there on a road trip for a fried chicken contest; I just hope there’s no shrimp in my potatoes if we do.