"The Super 8 on Lamar." Clearly, The Jeff travels in style.

"Stop. No. Cancel the reservation. Either that or buy a crossbow."

"Come on, it costs $70 a night, how horrible can it be..."

(cackling laughter, and the sound of my friend shouting at her roommate, 'hey, you know the Super8 on Lamar costs SEVENTY dollars a night,' and then, the sound of more distant laughter.)

"Really. It's not safe. I might have to come over with my gun. Everyone who lives in Memphis who has any sense is armed, by the way."

Now, I am the sort of person would worry more about a bunch of armed, paranoid white southerners than I would about a night in a sketchy neighborhood. I mean, I always take comments like that with a grain of salt. There are people in metropolitan Cincinnati who refuse to set foot within the city limits, or dismiss vast swaths of neighborhoods as strictly no-go. I live in a neighborhood which I consider quite safe, but there are people who think Clifton is some kind of war zone. These are people who can brave Springdale traffic on a Saturday yet refuse to visit the city proper. I find that just, odd.

It reminded me a little bit about when My Crazy Aunt Sally visited our family in 92. CAS became very upset, and, ultimately, LEFT my mother's hospitality when the two sisters got into this argument. CAS didn't want my Mother watching "The Golden Girls." Well, hell, I don't really want my mom watching the Golden Girls either, just as I would not permit my children from hanging around Hyde Park.

Does that make sense? Thank you for letting me share that story, btw.

(I promise. There is a reason why I am telling you all of this.)

Anyway, my tour guide absolutely INSISTED that my safety was at issue, and I am not unsympathetic to that. I mean, I drive an old car with out-of-state plates and, well... LOOK AT ME... I'm this tall chunky white dude with glasses. It often feels like I might as well be walking around in a big pink bunny suit.

So anyway, I had to cancel the reservation and Prepayment. And through a combination of persistence and skullduggery, I was able to.

Hotels.com can be a useful resource, but they have a rather draconian cancellation policy and outsourced customer service.

Call #, the "I chose the wrong hotel, can we switch the reservation to a more upscale Super8" gambit, was parried by the "you are within the cancellation window." defense, It looked like I was going to have to heat $90 (taxes, etc.)... SO I played dirty.

Call #2 was placed at the rest area just South of Mammoth Caves. I said, essentially, that I made a reservation the previous evening, and that my car had broken down, and I was unable to make it. So under these regrettable yet unforeseen extenuating circumstances could we please cancel the reservation and refund the room fee?"

I very nearly chucked at the "Hotel Expert's" response.

"You say your car broke down?"

"Yes. And the part will have to be, like, custom forged."

"It sounds like you are in your car now."

Yes, She said this! I'm thinking, "Are you SASSING me, Agent #27?Of course I am in my car. I’m driving to Memphis to eat BBQ until I have to be literally rolled to the bars on Beale street. But I am not paying for this goddamn hotel room."

My response was classic Jeff, "Oh, I work at a chemical factory... Big trucks go in and out all the time."

Which is true.

SO after a little more pleading, she speaks to a supervisor and the reservation was cancelled. I spent twice as much but I was infinitely more comfortable but had free breakfast and the Discovery Channel.

Okay, like I said, there is a reason I was telling you all of this.

This conversation took place at about 9:30AM on Friday, which meant that I was just south of Nashville at about 10:30. That awkward little window where it's not quite time for lunch but perhaps too late for breakfast. I don't do brunch.

I've heard of the Loveless Cafe before, but I've never been. But the entire point of this trip was trying to avoid the corporate food chain wherever possible. SO I tried it.

I didn't know this at the time, but it seems the proprietor was enjoying a burst of fame borne out of her recent appearance on a show on the Food Network called "Bobby Flay's Throwdown," I've never seen it, but evidently the premise is that the TV chef just shows up at a local food celebrity's home or place of business and challenges him/her to some sort of culinary duel.

She was this diminutive woman whose smile just lit up the small wood-paneled lobby area. "Child, she said, I was ROBBED." I don't know what sort of biscuit voodoo Mr. Flay employed, but aside from Lacing the dry goods with opiates I don't know how they could have been better than what I ate.

Even at that off hour, I had to wait about ten or fifteen minutes to be seated. For such a small building, the place seemed extremely bright and airy, with windows looking out onto the rural highway and the surrounding farms. The front room was covered floor to ceiling with photographs, mostly country or gospel singers, actors on television hits of the 60s, Republican senators and professional football players. Oh, and, inexplicably, Gene Simmons.

So. Here's the point.

It was 10:50 when I sat down. Breakfast or Lunch, I kept looking at both the menus. I want BBQ, but it's still breakfast time and don't want to seem gluttonous. Then, something on the breakfast menu just struck me. I had to wipe my eyes a few times because obviously I was reading it wrong.

But I wasn't.

IN THE SOUTH, YOU CAN GET BAR-B-Q for BREAKFAST.

What a civilized and genteel idea. The BBQ Breakfast Platter, 11.99. Two fluffy scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes, and these two, I guess, quantum biscuits that somehow defied all laws of physics by managing to be dense and fluffy at the same time. The biscuits were served with these Jello-shot sized (Like when doctors give you pills to take?) containers of homemade preserves, peach, strawberry and blackberry, each, in its own right, nearly perfect. You tasted fruit, and not sugar or acid. Quite good.

Oh, right. There was a big pile of pulled pork piled over your breakfast platter.

Good stuff, too. The sauce was peppery but not overwhelming, the meat was sweet and juicy but not greasy or sopping. A near perfect texture, even if there wasn't a lot of bbq spice.

So after several more hours of driving, a shower, a luxuriant nap in my comfy hotel bed, I was ready for dinner.

I have to admit I am a little bit embarrassed about taking my camera into crowded restaurants to photograph the food. So I left it in the car, but we ate a late dinner at Central BBQ.

I usually don't care about an eatery's ambience. I've tasted not-of-this-earth meals in strip malls, for example, but this place had the best "feel" of any establishment I frequented this past weekend. It was dark, smokey and loud. We sat on little Formica tables and picked away at our overflowing baskets.

I don't know if this was an urban/rural thing, but the pulled pork here was VERY different from that which I tasted this morning. This stuff was darker, deeper and richer than the bbq at Loveless. It still tasted like meat (as opposed to just sauce) but it seemed like more time and smoke were involved.

At the end of the table there were a selection of squeeze-bottle sauces, one was just called "hot," which I avoided, but I did try a little bit of the vinegar option. I liked this. It added acidity and tang without covering up the rich, sweet smokiness.

A little drinking on Beale Street and I was set for the night. More tomorrow!
Posted by Jeff at 12:16 am:: Permalink :: Leave Comment

Comments:

There are no comments yet.

<-----Earlier
Later ----->