Joyland

There’s something almost rebellious about Joyland. It’s fast food through the lens of a chef who’s spent years chasing precision and flavor at the highest levels—and then decided to have a little fun. You walk in knowing Sean Brock is behind it, and if you’ve followed his journey, there’s a reverence that comes with that. The man who’s explored the deep roots of Southern cuisine, written manifestos in the form of tasting menus, now offering up curly fries and a boozy shake? That’s the kind of contradiction worth celebrating.

I went in with the Joyburger Deluxe - everything you want from a smash-style burger, layered with tang, crunch, and sauce that drips just enough to demand a few napkins. It’s not trying to reinvent anything. It’s just doing it better than most. Pair it with waffle hashbrowns—crispy, savory, and unexpectedly perfect—and a Bearded Iris Pep Talk, one of those local beers that fits the mood without stealing the show.

Across the table: the Crustburger, a perfectly engineered stack where the edges of the beef crisp into a golden lace of flavor while the center stays juicy. It’s pure Americana, leveled up. Add curly fries—piping hot, aggressively seasoned, the kind you eat too fast and then wish you’d slowed down. And then there’s the boozy chocolate shake, laced with bourbon. Thick, rich, just sweet enough, and with that quiet burn at the end that reminds you you’re not at some generic drive-thru. It’s indulgence with intention.

Joyland feels like a love letter to fast food written by someone who knows exactly what makes it great—and what usually holds it back. Sean Brock didn’t just slap his name on a burger joint. He brought the same care, curiosity, and deep respect for craft that’s defined his career. The result? A meal that feels both nostalgic and elevated. A reminder that even the most humble dishes, in the right hands, can be something worth remembering.