Maybe it's the river, maybe it's the ribs, maybe it's the music or something else. Whatever it is, the South's capital of soul has a way of bewitching you.
I love the way that wherever you are in Memphis, you hear the dirge of trains. I love the way in winter, the dead magnolia leaves, having lost their sheen, tumble and clatter in the wind. I love the tang of pit-house smoke, but that’s kind of obvious, and the sound of blues that seems to ooze from the city’s every pore, but that’s obvious, too. I love the rambling old houses in Central Gardens when the azaleas are in garish bloom, and the offbeat energy lately emanating from new-old haunts like Cooper-Young, the recently revitalized Overton Square, and the cavernous 1920s-era Sears Crosstown Building, now being radically repurposed as a “mixed-use urban village.”