Memphis is famous for meat. That said, I know nothing about the culture of barbeque, nor about regional differences in barbeque making. "Dry-rub" versus "Sauce" seems more like a discussion on wanking than cooking.
That said, the dry-rub style of Memphis is one of the state’s charms. So, me and the Texan went to Rendezvous. Rendezvous is allegedly the best barbeque place in the city. However, as we got there in between lunch and dinner, they were only serving ribs and sides. Nothing else.
As I’m not a red meat eater, I couldn’t give a proper appraisal of the meats. Yoshi wasn’t impressed. These were not tender ribs, but seemed undercooked. Bitter disappointment stuck us.
From there, we went down Beale Street. We had a cool conversation with a guy named Eliot who worked at one of the gift shops on the row, then moved along. There were some musicians, playing in the park. At this point, I got a bit foggy. I had forgotten my water bottle in the car. The sun was high and venomous. Things didn’t feel fun anymore.
Interruption of Overarching Theme: Sun, Water, Sugar.
They governed our lives.
From there, we went to the abandoned arena. It was a pyramid. Apparently, they built a new one and just left the old one behind, like a refrigerator on the side of the road. Soda cans and snack wrappers pooled by the entrances, mulched with old leaves and pigeon shit. Homeless people, the lichens of the city, had taken root there.
All of the doors were locked. The brick wall was fake; Yoshi dented it with a tap. Everything was covered in dust. Despite my sleepiness, I loved this weird relic. It reminded me of the pyramid from Stargate, though it bore closer resemblance to the many shuttered and darkened shorefronts scattered thoughout the country.
“Why isn’t anyone using it?” I wondered.
“What can you do with a pyramid? The land here must be expensive— it must be impossible to find a buyer.”
Yoshi, as ever, was right. We were down the block from a row of hotels. There was a river to our left and city hall to our right. Pricey turf.
Still, as we left, I hoped some newfangled Charles Foster Kane would make the place his Xanadu.
Given lunch’s disappointment, we didn’t get barbeque. We aimed for Wang’s, but we had to walk to the car to refill the meter. By then, we were far from the Wang. We found ourselves at the second best Indian restaurant in the city, which provided adequate foods. And from there, we drove.
We had bad hotel luck that night. But eventually, there was sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment