Ford Fry: The Story Behind Rocket Farm Restaurants
Ford Fry does not look like a man running a restaurant group with more than 14 concepts across multiple states.
He looks like a guy who might disappear into his backyard with a guitar and a smoker.
When we sat down in Atlanta, what struck me was not scale. Not awards. Not Michelin recognition.
It was steadiness.
Ford speaks slowly. Thoughtfully. Almost cautiously. As if growth is something that happened around him, not because of him.
But the story says otherwise.
Houston, Education, and Campbell’s Soup
Ford grew up in Houston, the middle of three children.
His father started as a CPA before moving into real estate with Ford’s grandfather. Education mattered. Discipline mattered. Getting better mattered.
Food at home was not glamorous.
It was Campbell’s soup casseroles. Cream-of-mushroom everything. Recipes straight out of the 1950s.
But outside the house, food became memory.
His grandfather would take the family to Europe and pay the grandchildren to keep journals. A hundred dollars a day if you wrote down what you saw, what you tasted, what you learned.
Pressed duck in Paris. Steak and Ale when it felt like fine dining. Casual Tex-Mex in Houston that just tasted right.
Ford still cooks off those memories.
The 1.9 GPA
He went to the University of Arkansas because, as he told me plainly, that’s where he could get in.
He joined a fraternity. He did not go to class. He had a 1.9 GPA.
It was not lack of intelligence. It was lack of direction.
Then he found culinary school.
At the New England Culinary Institute, everything changed. He went from disengaged to near the top of his class.
Because he cared.
Because it clicked.
A French chef told the incoming class on the first night:
“You’re not going to be chefs. You’re going to be cooks. And you’re going to make $7 an hour.”
That was not discouraging.
It was clarifying.
Ritz Carlton and the Long Way Up
Ford’s first job out of culinary school was at the Ritz Carlton in Houston.
That is where he met Stacy.
She worked in Human Resources. She walked applicants past his station as part of her interview process. He was shy. Slow to move.
She said she wanted to move to Aspen.
He assumed she would not get the job.
She did.
He followed.
They have now been married more than 30 years.
That stat matters more to him than any award.
The Corporate Detour
After hotel kitchens in Houston, Aspen, California, and Colorado, Ford was recruited into a high-volume prepared-meal concept.
250 employees. Massive volume. Massive labor.
It was not glamorous food.
It was operational food.
For nine years he learned systems. Scale. Logistics. How to manage large teams. How to think beyond the line.
He also learned something else.
He was not meant to stay there.
He had entrepreneurial DNA. His grandfather had it. His brother-in-law had it. He felt it.
He just needed the nerve.
Opening JCT in 2007
In 2007, Ford opened JCT Kitchen in Atlanta.
It was an ambitious move. A multi-million dollar investment. His brother-in-law put up much of the capital.
Then the 2008 financial crisis hit.
JCT did $2.5 million its first year. Ford wanted to expand immediately.
A veteran restaurateur gave him advice he did not want to hear:
“Get it to $5 million first.”
The economy forced patience.
JCT eventually surpassed $6 million in revenue.
Margins improved dramatically.
More importantly, Ford gained something that no expansion can shortcut.
Time.
Time to listen to guests. Time to understand staff. Time to refine.
That patience built the foundation for what became Rocket Farm Restaurants.
Scaling Without Losing Culture
Today, Rocket Farm employs more than 2,000 people.
When I asked Ford how he keeps that many plates spinning, he did not talk about systems.
He talked about people.
“I’m only as strong as our people,” he said.
Empowerment.
Inspiration.
Those are not buzzwords to him. They are survival mechanisms.
He also shared a line that stuck with me:
“People don’t leave restaurants. They leave people.”
That insight shapes how he hires and how he leads.
The Code
Rocket Farm operates with a written code of ethics.
Among them:
We serve the person who is serving the guest.
We send negativity to work somewhere else.
We praise as aggressively as we discipline.
We talk to each other, not about each other.
When I asked which mattered most, Ford focused on balance.
In a hard industry, discipline is necessary.
But lifting people back up is non-negotiable.
Letting Go
Not every concept lasts forever.
Ford has closed restaurants that were still profitable.
King + Duke was ambitious. Heavy wood-fire cooking. Hard to categorize. Difficult market conditions.
Instead of squeezing it for a few more years, he let it go.
JCT Kitchen eventually became 90% fried chicken sales. That was not the vision.
So he closed it and reinvented the space entirely.
$6 million dollars later, it reopened as Little Sparrow and Bar Blanc.
That is not restlessness.
That is conviction.
The Man Outside the Restaurants
Ford plays guitar. Vintage Les Pauls. Old amps turned up when the house is empty.
He smokes chicken hot and fast on a Big Green Egg.
He prefers fatty brisket.
He hates raw bell peppers.
He still sounds surprised when he talks about Robert Plant eating at one of his restaurants.
He grew up near the Gulf and loves seafood, but calls himself more eater than fisherman.
He is a Texas kid who found his footing in Atlanta.
What This Really Is
The easy story is scale.
Twenty-plus restaurants. Multiple states. Awards. Recognition.
The real story is direction.
A 1.9 GPA that became focus.
A cook making $7 an hour who learned patience.
An entrepreneur who resisted expanding too fast.
A leader who believes culture outlasts cuisine.
Ford Fry is not loud.
He is deliberate.
And that deliberateness built something that will likely outlast trends, headlines, and even individual restaurants.
This is not a celebrity chef story. It is a character story.
And those tend to age well.