All reviews are from people who have redeemed deals with this merchant.
What You'll Get
Every part of the chicken tastes delicious when fried, though picky picnickers leave chicken egos and chicken screenplays at the bottom of the bucket. Sample the golden-fried best with today’s Groupon: for $10, you get $20 worth of fried delights and more at Joe’s Gizzard City.
Joe’s Gizzard City blissfully batters and fries assorted delights in its celebrated batter, made from a secret recipe guarded by the most vicious of attack chickens. Have a gander at its multitude of menus and sample its tender, flavorful namesake—Joe's famous chicken gizzards (half-order $7.25, full 9.50). Ambitious eaters are encouraged to unhook their jaws for a creation from The Food Network’s Guy Fieri—the Triple-D Burger, a third-pound cheeseburger drop-forged in the fryer ($9.50). Joe's rounds out the offerings with sides of curvy, fried-onion scoops ($8.50), deep-fried onion rings ($6.50), and a special in-house ale—the “Cock-a-Doodle Brew”.
The Fine Print
Promotional value expires Jul 31, 2011. Amount paid never expires. Limit 1 per person, may buy 2 additional as gifts. Limit 1 per table. Not valid for 6/10-6/12. No cash back. Tax and gratuity not included. Not valid with other offers. Merchant is solely responsible to purchasers for the care and quality of the advertised goods and services.
About Joe’s Gizzard City
The cherry-red Diners, Drive-ins and Dives convertible idles beside a giant rooster statue in the Gizzard City parking lot. Inside the diner, Food Network's Guy Fieri stands over a deep fryer, a full burger battered in his gloved hand. With a sizzle and a grin, Guy drops the entire creation into scalding oil, yielding Joe's Gizzard City's newest creation, the Triple D burger. After spending years battering chicken in his grandmother's secret blend of ingredients, co-owner Joe Bristol Jr. decided to experiment with the hot oil, and now deep fries hot dogs, Oreos, and even whole burgers. But the eatery isn’t called Gizzard City for nothing. Pressure cooked in garlic and celery powder until tender, Joe's namesake chicken gizzards arrive to tables cloaked in Cajun spices or crowded into the cheese-filled confines of an omelet.
Hesitant diners begin to sample gizzards, cautiously at first, but then letting forth happy sighs that reverberate off neon beer signs, a projection TV, and a weathered wooden bar. The staff operates on the same irreverent attitude that led them to deep-fry a Twinkie, joking with one another and playfully asking guests to help with the dishes. Booths the deep red hue of a lobster with lost cue cards cradle lingering patrons who chat with Joe Jr. about his numerous Tennessee Country Music Association awards.