It’s Fast-Food Week! It’s crunchier than a Bacon Ranch Wrap.
Chick-fil-A was once a mere chick. Five Guys was once one little guy. Raising Cane’s rose up from the bottom. Now there’s another humble regional fast-food joint that could be on the cusp of going stratospheric. Say hello to North Carolina’s Cook Out, a mysterious cornucopia of a burger joint that distinguishes itself with variety, value, and the biggest menu of milkshakes you’ve ever seen.
Founded in Greensboro, North Carolina, in 1989, Cook Out remained a determinedly Tar Heel phenomenon until 2010, when the company began expanding outside the state. By my count, Cook Out now operates 321 restaurants in 10 states across the Southeast, from Jackson, Mississippi, to Salisbury, Maryland. The chain has accomplished all this without the benefit of much in the way of coverage. Perhaps that’s because national media doesn’t pay a lot of attention to the South—or perhaps that’s because the company is exceptionally press-shy. Jeremy Reaves, the 45-year-old CEO and son of the chain’s founder, doesn’t appear to have granted an in-depth interview about the company since a Charlotte Observer reporter caught him in the parking lot of a new restaurant in 2007. And I use in-depth loosely; asked what fans like about Cook Out, he replied, “We’re known for our fresh hamburgers and our barbecue.”
Since then, Reaves has given the occasional quote about a new location but in the past decade has clammed up entirely; the closest he’s come to a media appearance was a canned press release when the chain announced its sponsorship of a Richmond, Virginia, NASCAR race. Local papers in the Southeast obsessively cover Cook Out real-estate deals in hopes of learning more about the company’s plans, sometimes resorting to quoting whoever happens to answer the phone at headquarters. The most recent exciting news is that Cook Out might be working on a new restaurant concept called Roo’s Chicken, or maybe Chicken Roo’s, in Raleigh.
While writing this story, I sent many, many emails to comments@cookout.com (“attention: Jeremy Reaves”) and left many, many voicemails at the company’s headquarters, which as far as I can tell are located in a nondescript office park in central North Carolina. The whole operation seems charmingly homespun, or, if you’re a reporter, annoyingly rinky-dink. Although one woman who answered the phone did agree that it was too bad no one was calling me back, she did not connect me to Jeremy Reaves. “Oh, I’ve worked here a long time, but none of us are allowed to do that,” she said. She did identify the company’s director of marketing, who according to LinkedIn just graduated from college in June. That employee never responded in any way, even though I told her I was literally writing a story about how good their milkshakes were.
Cook Out locations are utilitarian and uncharming, vaguely retro, with dollar store–esque signage. Most locations are drive-thru only, often with the addition of a walk-up window and some picnic tables. Cook Out, like Chick-fil-A before it, does have some Christian vibes. The store is less religious than the chicken chain in that it’s open on Sundays, but more religious in that some sit-down locations play Christian rock and some drink cups have Bible verses printed on them. But what aficionados love most about the chain isn’t the aesthetics or the devotional paper goods. It’s the food—and the price. Burgers start at $2.99, barbecue sandwiches cost $4.99, and combo platters—way bigger than any one person should eat—start at $7. I’ve eaten a lot of Cook Out on visits to North Carolina; when I heard that the company had opened its first northern Virginia store, near Manassas, I thought it was high time I returned. Is this chain about to break into the big time? Maybe its first D.C.–area location would give me a clue.
The Manassas Park store is the northernmost Cook Out in the world, and when I walked in one recent afternoon, the staff was engaging in some customer education. “Cheerwine’s a North Carolina soda,” the guy working the counter told one couple, when they asked about the Carolina cherry soft-drink staple. “Hard to get up here.” When I ordered my lunch, he asked me what size drink I wanted. I pointed to the biggest Styrofoam cup, and he said, “Just so you know, we call that ‘huge’ here.”
The huge is indeed pretty huge—32 ounces, the size of a Big Gulp. Cook Out, in the finest Southern tradition, pours its sodas over crushed ice, which melts a little fast for my taste but does keep a Diet Coke as frosty as the North Pole. The soda arrived alongside my burger, hush puppies, and fried okra. Cook Out has fries and onion rings, of course, but also sells more arcane sides, including coleslaw, fried cheese curds, and a bacon wrap—literally a bunch of bacon and cheese in a tortilla. This befits the grab-bag nature of the Cook Out menu, which is perfect for a large group of drunk and/or indecisive people: not just burgers and chicken sandwiches but quesadillas, chili dogs, chicken strips, and North Carolina barbecue. Cook Out will whip up a BLT, fry you a corn dog, or sell you a Walkin’ Taco, served in a Doritos bag.
You can order any of these fast-food standards and be assured of a basically fine meal. The burgers are a little dry but have a nice char and some excellent topping options (especially if you’re a fan of cheese sauce). The chili dogs are a real mess but tasty. I’ve never had the bacon wrap, but it’s hard to imagine that it doesn’t taste pretty good. You’ll never have a revelatory dinner at Cook Out, but you’ll also never have a bad one.
No, the revelation comes when it’s time for dessert. Because dessert is where Cook Out makes its claim to fast-food excellence. Just take a look at this smorgasbord:
Yes, that’s more than 40 different flavors of milkshakes, and Cook Out fans are devoted to their favorites. (Raleigh’s News and Observer recently published a comprehensive review of them all—required reading.) And among the flavors are basically every dessert flavor profile you might find yourself craving. Chocolatey, cheesecakey, peanut buttery, minty, fruity, nutty. If you like candy, buy the Butterfinger shake. If you like seasonal treats, buy the watermelon shake (in the summer) or the eggnog shake (at Christmas). If you like coffee, buy the cappuccino shake. If you’re a sicko, buy the Orange Push-Up shake, which looks radioactive and tastes like being 7 years old.
I ordered an old favorite, chocolate cherry, and something new, banana pudding. They were gloriously rich and delicious. (One was served in a cup that said “John 3:16” on it.) Texture-wise, they’re more like Blizzards than traditional milkshakes, so thick that you have no choice but to eat them with a spoon. The banana-pudding shake even had chunks of vanilla wafers embedded in it. As an experiment, I tried to suck the chocolate-cherry shake through a straw as it melted; I finally made some headway after about half an hour.
The total price for a burger, plentiful sides, a huge Diet Coke, and two milkshakes? Under 20 bucks. I left Cook Out extremely full and not that much poorer than I had been when I walked in. Which, one might argue, is the real point of a fast-food restaurant, one that can get lost as upscale chains get bigger and bigger. For what I spent at Cook Out, I could just barely get a single burger, order of fries, and small soda at Shake Shack. Maybe rinky-dink Cook Out is destined to be the underdog in a world in which every leisure business wants to attract the wealthiest customers possible. But it’s an underdog whose bark is growing louder.
With its low prices and late hours—many Cook Outs are open until 3 a.m. or later—the chain is making a bet on the social habits of a specific kind of customer: young people. Cook Out is aggressive about opening in college towns, and if you drive past one in the wee hours you’ll sometimes see parades of revelers fresh out of the bars or the clubs. (One Cook Out in Raleigh racked up 374 police calls in 25 months, according to a 2007 News and Observer story.) My teenager recently visited some friends in North Carolina. When she told them she’d never been to a Cook Out, they were as shocked as if she’d said she’d never gone to school. Then they took her to Cook Out.
