The Feral Pig — Restaurant in Fayetteville

I finally understand why this place is called The Feral Pig. The sensibilities on display leave me with no choice but to conclude that this establishment is owned and operated by a hog—an uncultured swine, drunk on fermented fruit and tripping on some variety of wild mushroom. No human being in their right mind would have made the choices that led to the existence of this—I hesitate to even call it a restaurant.

The floor was filthy. Beneath my table, a cornucopia of food scraps, discarded napkins, straw wrappers, and other assorted garbage.

Of course, the real crime here isn’t the trash beneath the table but the trash they set atop it. My biscuits and gravy tasted like baking soda smothered in lukewarm nothing sauce. Wretched.

My wife and my boyfriend fared no better. Their sandwiches were passable, but they came with plain tortilla chips—stale and as tasteless as cardboard. Were they at least made in-house? Of course not. They were store-bought, served dry, without so much as a whisper of dip. Who wants that as a side? What is the meaning? What is the purpose? Where are the standards?

My wife had questions about the menu. Did the surly waiter have answers? No. When she asked about a menu item called “The Feeding Bowl,” he stared at her with the glassy-eyed perplexity of someone being asked to solve an advanced problem in Euclidean geometry. Did he take the inquiry back to the kitchen? No. He simply said, and I quote, “Don’t blame me.” Follow-up question then, bud—should we not blame you for your ignorance of the menu, or for being too lazy to go check?

When you order coffee here, you have to get it yourself. Like a serf. Now, I don’t mind having to fetch my own coffee (well, I do, but I’m lazy), but you have to tell me the score. Explain yourself, Restaurant! Explain! Don’t just plop an empty cup in front of me and walk away. It feels like some kind of avant-garde performance art. “Contemplate this empty cup.” Oh wow. How like life. Deep.

Speaking of things left unexplained, their menu layout is as recondite as an ancient grimoire. The section divisions follow no discernible logic, nor is it at all clear what the supposed distinctions even mean.

Oh, here’s another great moment. My boyfriend asked, “Do you guys have Dr. Pepper?” The waiter replied, “No.” That’s it. No suggestion of alternatives. No rundown of what they do have. Just a flat, unhelpful “No.” A minor grievance in the grand scheme of how awful absolutely everything was, but emblematic of the experience.

I believe in supporting local businesses, but I would gladly choke down mountains of lukewarm corporate slop over the ludicrously overpriced gruel at this miserable hovel. Seven dollars for self-serve coffee? Nine dollars for two stunningly mediocre sausage balls, barely larger than hush puppies? I’d call it highway robbery, but that would imply too much effort. I wouldn’t want to insult the work ethic of actual highwaymen.

How anyone is giving this place a positive review baffles me to my core. This is easily one of the ten worst restaurants I have ever visited. The food is dreary slop made with nothing but contempt for the customer. The waitstaff are rude, aloof, poorly trained, and blissfully unaware of the so-called food they serve.

If you are a flavor masochist with a fetish for being price-gouged by indifferent jerks, then by all means, visit The Feral Pig. If you have even the smallest shred of self-respect, I’d recommend eating a tuna sandwich from a dumpster before spending a single penny in this disestablishment.

I would give it negative stars if I could.

Reprehensible sludge. Do not give these people one cent of your money or one second...

A Breakfast Gem

If you're looking for a breakfast spot that serves up more than just great food, The Feral Pig is the place to be! The moment you walk in, you’re met with warm smiles, a cozy atmosphere, and a team that truly makes you feel like part of the family.

The menu is packed with delicious options, from perfectly cooked eggs to crispy bacon and some of the best breakfast sandwiches around. And let’s talk about the mimosas—because what’s breakfast without a little bubbly? Fresh, crisp, and perfectly mixed, they’re the perfect way to start your day.

But today, there's something even better than the food and drinks: a special shoutout to the fearless leader of this place!!!! On behalf of the entire team, we want to wish you a HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATT!!!! Your leadership, kindness, and humor keep this place running, and we’re all so grateful for you. WE LOVE YOU BIG TIME!!!

So, if you're stopping by today, be sure to give a birthday cheer to the best manager in town. And if you’re looking for a breakfast spot that feels like home (with top-tier mimosas), The Feral Pig is the place to be!

Cheers to another year of greatness!

P.S. We were going to get you a cake, but we figured bottomless mimosas were a safer bet—less fire hazard, more...

For starters having to get your own coffee is wild. People go to a sit down restaurant to be served not serve themselves. Should just put IPads at each table to place your own order. No one explains the menu, it reads terribly and you have to ask what each item is. The eggs are fresh cracked LOLOL highly doubt that. Same texture as what we served in hospitals that came out of cartons. Adding parsley as a garnish doesn’t mean anything if they taste basic. Literally two options for eggs. Scrambled or baked. Ham seemed like it was steamed or microwaved. The melon for the fruit still had the rind on it. The grapefruit that was served was days old. The drinks are listed on a separate menu that the server had to search for. I almost never leave reviews but this place just screamed inexperience. The music, all I’m saying is know your customers. Went from 80s hair ballads to 90s G-Funk. The look on these old ladies faces when they walked in was...