Memphis Blues
Our road trip had started off to be one of the best road trips I have ever been on. So Murphy’s Law decided to intervene to try and dampen the festivities.
Wednesday morning dawned another beautiful and hot southern day. I got up and went for a few laps around the camp site, showered, we tore down camp, and headed towards Memphis. I had been there about 10 years ago as part of a theater troupe and was excited to get back to the great Blues music and BBQ. However, as we drove south, it became obvious that Marisa wasn’t feeling well.
A short interlude about diets is in order. While I’ve been eating healthier than ever the past few months, I’ve pretty much been in road trip eating training since I’ve been a child. The McCormicks cannot exactly be classified as health nuts. In fact, considering that my dad routinely uses an entire stick of butter on his popcorn and his favorite cooking “pot” is a deep fryer, it’s safe to say that my stomach has been conditioned to endure almost any culinary disaster - including my mother’s cooking.
Not so with Marisa. She is a very healthy eater and has even flirted with vegetarianism on several occasions in her life. While I love the meat, she loves the salad. The end result is that her body was not ready for the rigors of road trip eating.
Somewhere between the steaks my cousin’s wife made us, the several breakfasts of southern biscuits, and the slow roasted ribs of Nashville, Marisa’s stomach finally cried, “Uncle!”
So we decided to take it easy in Memphis, but while our couple of days there were subdued, that doesn’t mean they weren’t incredibly fun. First, I’d like to state for the record that Marisa is a trooper. When I’m not feeling well I’m a complete baby about it and expect everyone to feel sorry for me. Not so with her.
We decided to splurge on this one night and found ourselves a good hotel near downtown Memphis. We then put on our walking shoes and headed to Beale Street. This is probably the most famous street in all of Tennessee and it’s easy to see why: Live musicians on every corner, BBQ joints and bars all along the strip, and, best of all, you’re allowed to drink a beer while walking down the street. This last item will arise again and reach new heights when we get to New Orleans, but you’ll have to wait for that post.
The only disappointment about Beale Street was the food. We stopped into a place that looked to have a great menu and had a live band on stage. However, the food was mediocre and the service atrocious. Moral of the story: Enjoy Beale Street’s music and drink but stay away from the tourist trap food.