Everything great about Tennessee is culminated in Memphis. I was looking forward to amazing ribs, heartfelt music, and unique scenery. I came across an overwhelming amount of bars, old buildings with neon storefronts, and a lot of local talent trying to make it big. Actually, Memphis is a lot like Nashville, except substitute country music with blues, and insert a lot more Elvis.
I drove downtown and searched for the rib mecca of Memphis, Rendezvous. When I got to the location, it looked like it was closed. This was a sharp blow, because not only was I looking forward to seeing what all the fuss was about, I was also starving. Turns out the establishment is underground, in the alley. So I walked around the block, entered the shady alley, and found a hoppin' restaurant to my delight. I was reassured. Approximately two people working there within 3 minutes told me that they didn't open till 4, and could only offer me a rib platter. Well, if that's the best you can do, I guess I'll have to deal!
The restaurant was very kitschy, but charming. And full of hungry patrons. Remember, it was closed. I take a seat and order a half rack, which the server indicated to the cooks across the dining room with a swipe of his arm, illustrating that the rack should be cut in half. Before I had a chance to wash my hands, the food arrived, and it looked fantastic. The beans had actual rib meat in the cup, giving new meaning to "pork and beans." Even the cole slaw had barbecue spices in it, giving it a reddish brown color.
Yet, I have to say I think I am just not a fan of Tennessee ribs. They dry rub the meat and smoke it, and then the sauce is laid out on the table. It creates a charred crust on top of the meat, and although it locks in the juice mostly, I was expecting the meat to be a lot more tender. I've had more moist ribs in Virginia. They were good, just not what I expected. Also, I'm not a fan of the sauce on the table, after the fact. There was something sweet in both mild and hot sauces that I couldn't put my finger on, something fruity and tangy, and neither of the sauces won me over. Oh well, it was still an experience.
I stopped at the Flying Saucer Pub on Second Street, across the street from Peabody Place, to cool off. This was one of those serious beer places that had hundreds of varieties of beer. There were pool tables and plush couches. It was a really fun place to hang out and I wish I could have stayed longer and party there at night. The staff were gracious and friendly.
Recharged, I walked a few blocks to Beale Street, which is not unlike Bourbon Street in New Orleans. It was very reminiscent of Broadway in Nashville, except with even more bars and gift shops. I lost track of all the bars and blues clubs. There were even more local performers on stage during the day, and the blocks were abuzz with tourists and locals partying together and enjoying the live music. There was blues playing everywhere, and with so many storefronts evoking both B.B. King and Elvis Presley, it was hard not to get sucked in.
And these people drink. Almost every bar served a colossal 32 ounce brew serving, endearingly labeled "Big Ass Beer." The main blocks of Beale Street were blocked off for walking in the street, but I was surprised to see that drinking in public wasn't ignored here like in New Orleans. Still, it didn't take away from the festival atmosphere and the outdoor drinking.
I bought one of these ridiculous beers and sat down in an outdoor patio, listening to the "Louisiana Mojo Queen," Ms. Zeno, belt out soul and bluegrass classics, and some of her original works too. She was very animated and had a fiesty character. The beer, the blues, and the beauty of Beale Street made for a perfect afternoon. I bet my father would have thought the same, even more so.
On my way back, I made some small talk with some locals and found out about the man-made Mud Island on the Mississippi. I ended up driving to Martyrs Park, right on the river, and took some pics of the bridges, the water and the park. I even snagged a sneak peek of the Memphis Pyramid! This park was dedicated to the late volunteers who came back to Memphis in the late 1800s to tend to the ill suffering from yellow fever, after a mass evacuation. Seems to me that this city is, and always has been, full of wonderful people.
With the sun starting its descent, I begrudgingly got back into my car and headed toward the bridge across the Mississippi River into Arkansas, en route to Missouri. Midwest, here I come!
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