

The Fox’s Den was founded by two brothers and a nephew who truly appreciate what this country has to offer. Andrew and Chris Fox along with Thomas Burns are longtime products of the restaurant industry where offering value with quality on a consistent basis is a most difficult task. At Fox’s Den we strive to offer a great selection of American Beer and Spirits along with incredible comfort food anchored by our wood-fired brick oven pizzas. Americans push to be the best at everything. When we look at craft beer and spirits, America has excelled in producing the finest products that rival any around the world. We feel it is not necessary to look outside our borders to offer a great experience while also supporting the products made here
Relaxed, rustic-chic locale emphasizing locally-sourced small plates, gourmet pizzas & craft beer.
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Reviews
The honest rewrite. Chris crowned. “Duck fat” dragged.
Let’s set the record right, loud and clean.
The night didn’t belong to the kitchen. It belonged to Chris. One man. Full bar. Every seat loaded. And he kept that Old Fashioned flowing like he had six arms and a guardian angel. That dude is a service animal for the soul. Pay him double. Hell, put his name on a plaque.
Now the food.
Carrots walked in like they owned the building. Absolute knockout. Char perfect. Sweet center. Textbook balance. They were the star in a room full of ingredients trying too hard.
Salmon deviled eggs looked like they hired stylists. They were good, but all show before soul. Still, the presentation was elite.
Lamb meatballs had the right blueprint, but they needed more fat. Sauce great. Cheese great. Texture a little thirsty. Could’ve been prime but landed at almost.
And now the villain of the night.
The “duck fat” fries.
Except they weren’t duck fat.
They were canola.
Not even shy about it.
That is culinary identity fraud. That is oil catfishing. If you say duck fat, you better come with the gospel of richness… not this light, flat, overcooked crunch with no depth. That was thirty seconds too long in the wrong oil. Charge the kitchen with deception in the first degree.
But the night wasn’t lost.
Apple Bottom and Sausage Party hit the table like two late heroes kicking the door down. Apple Bottom dripping heat and honey like a sweet-salty fever dream. Sausage Party bringing straight muscle. Both pies saved the shift. Both brought the vibe back from the grave the fries dug.
I’ll still roll back through at 9 p.m. hungry as hell, but don’t you dare pawn off canola oil as duck fat again. I can squeeze the leftovers out of that canola into my gas tank to get home, but goddammit, don’t call it duck when ain’t nothin’ flyin’ in the Fox Den except my expectations leaving my body.
Atmosphere is warm and easy. The people are friendly, say hi to Tommy, one of the owners.
They do not do split bills, which is slightly annoying.