Bite the beaches

 “Fire on the Ground “

The concept of Fogo de Chão dates back to 1979, when it was founded in Porto Alegre, in southern Brazil, by two sets of brothers steeped in the gaucho tradition of “churrasco” — cooking meat over an open fire, the old-School way.

So, when you go to Fogo, you’re not just eating steak — you’re stepping into a centuries-old Southern-Brazilian tradition, reimagined for the modern international diner.The Fort Lauderdale location opened on August 19, 2022, at 201 E. Las Olas Blvd, Suite 100 — on the corner of Southeast Third Avenue and Las Olas Boulevard, inside “The Main Las Olas,” a mixed-use development combining residential, retail, and office space.

I have to say, I was very excited to try Fogo de Chão.
Maybe my expectations were a little too high, but what unfolded ended up being one of the most disappointing — and expensive — dining outings I’ve had in Fort Lauderdale.

Expectation vs. Reality

Fogo is marketed as a polished, high-energy Brazilian steakhouse with a reputation for top-quality cuts, nonstop table service, and a vibrant dining atmosphere. Add in the prestigious Las Olas address, and you walk in expecting something memorable — maybe even spectacular.

But from the moment I sat down, things started to miss the mark, and the gap between the expectation and the actual experience grew wider with every course.

From the very beginning, the service set the tone for the entire evening — and not in a good way.

Our server approached the table looking visibly nervous, almost shaky, and clearly overworked. It was obvious he had far too many tables to handle. Instead of the confident, attentive service you expect at a premium-priced churrascaria, we were met with someone who was already overwhelmed before we even ordered drinks.

Cocktails, Calm Words… and Then the Bread Situation

We ordered cocktails, and I even tried to put our server at ease — I told him we were in no rush, that we wanted to relax and take our time.
Honestly, I thought those words would lift a weight off his shoulders.

The drinks arrived (a small miracle given how many tables he was juggling), and a moment later a tiny plate of four Brazilian cheese breads (Pão de Queijo) appeared on the table.

They were warm. They were delicious.
But then… we all looked at each other with the same confused expression:

“Wait… where are the plates?”

There we were, sitting in a polished Brazilian steakhouse on Las Olas, holding cocktails like civilized adults, and suddenly we’re faced with a communal mound of cheese bread sitting in the middle of the table like it was the last appetizer at a Super Bowl party. At this point, we just gave up on the idea of plates entirely and picked the bread up with our hands — holding it like it was some sort of sacred offering from the gods.

Honestly, we looked like a group of pilgrims who had just discovered carbs for the very first time.

There was this dramatic pause before each of us took a bite, as if we were thinking:

“Is this how Fogo wants us to do it? Is this part of the cultural experience? Are we… supposed to worship the cheese bread?”

Pushing on, the server came back — still looking like someone had assigned him three extra tables while he was walking over — and he kindly suggested we head to the salad bar.

I turned to my guest and repeated it out loud, slowly:

“…The salad bar?”

As if I was trying to process a plot twist I did not see coming.

Now keep in mind:
This restaurant is huge.
And very, VERY loud — like airport-terminal-during-a-holiday-rush loud.

So I glance to my right, and somewhere about half a mile away — honestly I think I could see a different climate zone out there — was the salad bar. And not just a salad bar… but a line to the front door.

A line. For a salad bar.
At a place that charges luxury-steakhouse prices.

Now, I could go on, but I’ll try to keep this short.

We all politely passed on the whole “Golden Corral Buffet Adventure” and decided to sit tight and actually order something.
At this point, optimism was hanging on by a thread.

We decided to share a shrimp cocktail — because really, what could be safer?

Well… the shrimp cocktail arrived looking like it had been emotionally damaged by life.
Four shrimp, arranged dramatically over a glass like they were auditioning for a retirement home brochure.
They were cold… but not refreshing cold — more like “I’ve been sitting out too long” cold.

But we powered through.
Because hope springs eternal.
Or stupidity — at this point it’s hard to tell.

We placed our entrée orders at the same time. I’m not a meat eater, so I went with the sea bass.
I thought: It’s sea bass. How hard could this be?

Apparently, very.

When it arrived, it was so dry I’m convinced it had been reincarnated three times before it made it to my plate.
I took one bite and immediately understood what sawdust tastes like.
Honestly, if I had thrown it on the table, it probably would have crumbled into powder.

My guests ordered the signature Full Churrasco Experience, the big Fogo specialty.

And all I can say is… they barely got any passes from the Passadores.

It was like the gaucho chefs were avoiding our table on purpose, using us as the “ignore this section” training exercise.

My Takeaway

In the end, my overall impression of Fogo de Chão is simple:

Overpriced. Overhyped. Over everything.

I walked in with sky-high expectations — honestly, I was ready for a full culinary event, a “Las Olas night to remember.”
Instead, I walked out feeling like I would’ve gotten more joy, gratitude, and eye contact if I had just handed my dining budget to a random person on the street.

At least they would’ve appreciated it.

Between the nervous server, the Golden-Corral-on-steroids salad bar line, the sawdust sea bass, and the lukewarm parade of meat that barely paraded… I can’t say I’ll be sprinting back anytime soon.

If Fogo was trying to give me a memorable night, congratulations —
I will be remembering this for a long, long time.

Just… not for the reasons they hoped.

Until the next time ! Bon Appetit