In high school, my town’s Bennigan’s was where my friends and I filled up on Cokes, burgers, and Monte Cristos; we flirted, were friend zoned, and convinced the servers it was someone’s birthday when it wasn’t. The chain, which was started by Steak and Ale founder and Pillsbury executive vice president Norman E. Brinker in 1976, was where my parents often took my sisters and me for post-Mass lunches. Those were nervous outings. I didn’t want to get the Monte Cristo’s jelly or powdered sugar on my suit and tie. But overall, Bennigan’s was a series of memories, fuzzy from a halo made of smiles. 

Those years fell into the seventies-to-nineties halcyon days of the casual-dining chains that revolutionized popular American dining. Brinker and Chili’s founder Larry Lavine, whom Brinker went on to work with, were the era’s leading figures. But in 2008, after a series of buyouts and restructuring, Bennigan’s (including the restaurant in my parents’ hometown) all but disappeared from the American casual-dining landscape—or so I thought. 

Paul Mangiamele, owner and CEO of Dallas-based Legendary Restaurant Brands—and, since 2015, owner of Bennigan’s; its to-go offshoot, Bennigan’s on the Fly; and Steak and Ale—bristles at the narrative of Bennigan’s demise. But his enthusiasm is clear. “I certainly can shout from the rooftops how great our brands are, how iconic our brands are,” he told me over the phone. He went on to clarify: ​“We never completely ceased operating our brands.” Instead, Bennigan’s filed for Chapter 7 liquidation bankruptcy, forcing the closure of the 150 corporate stores. Franchise outlets remained open, but a cascading effect led to a slow wave of closures for many of them. Those that continued to operate were few and far between. 

Mangiamele purchased Bennigan’s and Steak and Ale with a franchise-only policy. He and his wife, Gwen, own 100 percent of Legendary Restaurant Brands, which allows the Mangiameles to be picky. “We’re only as strong as our weakest franchise partners. So it’s imperative that [franchisees] are strong and they’re passionate, and they preserve a culture that was started by Norman Brinker so many years ago,” he said. Although his spiel might come off as canned, the dedication to his company is firm enough that I felt like I was in a Bennigan’s while listening to him. There are seven across the country, sixteen Bennigan’s on the Fly spots, and fifteen more international franchises, including outposts in Cyprus, Mexico, and the United Arab Emirates. But Mangiamele says the Benningan’s brand is setting up for growth, with planned locations in Guatemala; Pakistan; Wichita, Kansas; and potentially even closer to home.

During a reporting trip to the Permian Basin in May, my friend Rodrigo Bravo and I saw the marquee sign of a Bennigan’s in Monahans from Interstate 20. Our surprise at the sight immediately turned into plans to end the day of taco shop–hopping with a Monte Cristo. The positioning of the restaurant along the busy stretch of oil patch highway was deliberate. Mangiamele and franchisee and former Monahans mayor David Cutbirth were banking on the reactions of drivers like my friend and I, who grew up with Bennigan’s. Mangiamele calls it newstalgia, a term traditionally used to describe the mix of vintage and modern elements in interior design. Newstalgia is the sweet spot, and Mangiamele nailed the aesthetic. Bennigan’s offers what other brands can’t, he says, drawing a distinction between fast-food burger brands whose food “was fresh an hour ago” and the cooked-to-order dishes alongside full service at about the same price point of others’ products. 

Once Rodrigo and I got out of the car, we stood quietly, taking in the view of the building. Gone was the oversized, pub-influenced design, with its green frills. In its place was the blocky exterior evocative of contemporary chain-restaurant architecture. Inside, however, the flood of happy memories from our formative years, the ones that had endeared generations to Bennigan’s, walloped us. I got goose bumps. Rodrigo excitedly told the hostess that we were psyched to see a Bennigan’s open—again, we had thought they’d all closed.

“You’re like the fifth group today to say that,” she said flatly. “We’ve been here since 2018, and we’re only one of two Bennigan’s in Texas.” Our effusiveness turned into embarrassment. But then we slid into our booth and ordered a Monte Cristo, fish and chips, and two pints of Guinness. “C’mon, how can you not,” my buddy said, after clicking his tongue in faux disappointment when I initially tried to order an IPA. “It’s practically a pub.” 

Locals commentated on the playoffs broadcasting on the TVs over the bar, which wasn’t the old varnished-wood horseshoe design. Instead, it was a common casual-dining bar—long, with wood grain and metal accents. The dining room, however, was bright and welcoming, with a few sticky surfaces, an ebullient server, and fond recollections. The Monte Cristo was perfectly filled with folded ribbons of ham, knotted chunks of turkey, and beds of American and Swiss cheese between bread lightly fried to a firmness that held everything in place. It came with a side of the alternating sweet and tart raspberry sauce and copious helpings of newstalgia.