This One's for Elvis

Like you need one more person to tell you to go to Graceland and Beale Street. Well, I'll tell you right now, that's what we did, and we had A BLAST doing it. Now, we are not your average tourists-we've been to most corners of the globe, speak various languages between us, and are open to spontaneous adventure. But Emma and I have to say, there's nothing like Memphis for a taste of the South and for a glimpse at the roots of rock'n'roll.

Quick Tips:

Sorry, no tips! We used the hotel concierge, our Frommer's Guide Book, and travelocity.com to answer all our questions and get suggestions of places to eat and things like that.

Best Way To Get Around:

Rent a car because without it, you are severly limited to visiting just the several square blocks of the downtown area. We are Manhattanites and love public transport, but the public transport in Memphis is just not efficient enough for people in town for a weekend.

Emma and I shared a room, and it was perfect for our needs. There was no mini-bar, but the cable worked, the beds were comfy and clean, the room was spacious enough that we weren't falling over each other, and if we had been ambitious, we could have brewed our own coffee. The furniture and rugs seemed pretty new too. The continental breakfast in the morning was alright, although you had to get there early or everything was wiped out. Parking was free (yay), but the best part for us party girls was that we were within walking distance to the bars and restaurants downtown, so we didn't have to appoint a designated driver and spoil all the fun. Our room had a nice view of a park with a fountain, which would have been nicer had construction not been covering most of the lawn.

The trolley stops right out back of the hotel, too, if you wanted to take that across town. The people behind the desk were very sweet and always able to suggest places to eat, and they gave us the clearest driving directions to the airport. There were lots of families staying here, with groups of people who were in town for weddings and the Ole Mississippi vs. the University of Tennessee football game (Tennessee won). This hotel isn't for you if you're looking for the lap of luxury, room service, or business services.

Well, Emma and I knew we had to have dry rub ribs in Memphis, and we supposed it had to be here since everyone (and we mean everyone) we spoke to beforehand named this fine establishment as THE place to eat.

I suppose you could make a reservation, but we didn't, so we showed up and put our name on the list. We had to wait about an hour, but what the heck did we care-we had our $7.95 pitcher of beer (we're from New York City, so that's REALLY cheap to us) and plenty of people-watching. I most liked how a very polite (?) Southern boy asked us, "That pitcher's just for the two of you?" with incredulity. I invited him to join us, but before he came over (oops!), we'd finished the pitcher. Conclusion: the bar area is a good place to be stuck.

The dining experience- Our waiter was awesome, a very charming older guy, and he took our order while cracking jokes and asking questions about where we all were from. We actually split an order of ribs and some sides, and combined with the cornbread, we were totally stuffed, and we sat in awe (as we finished our second pitcher of beer) watching skinny nothings put away whole racks of ribs with sides of veggies or macaroni and cheese. Wow! There were a lot more tables of eight and up than you'd see in a "regular" restaurant. Clearly the Rendezvous is where friends come from all over Memphis to get together. We were happy to know the locals loved the joint as much as we did. And the bonus: we could walk back to our hotel since the Rendezvous is downtown.

We were starvin' like Marvin when we sat ourselves down in this bar and restaurant, so we were happy, with a capital H, when our burgers came out lickety split. And we ate them just as quickly.

Again, the location can't be beat for folks staying downtown-we walked here from our hotel. And what a pleasant surprise to find my favorite northern California beer, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, on tap. This turned out to be key because most of the other bars we were in this weekend would only ever get as exotic as Heineken. So now you know where to go if you require a heartier beer.

Our burgers were terrific, as promised. It also felt like a neighborhood place-a whole ream of college-aged people walked into the bar around 3pm and sat down for what was clearly an after-work drink. They all had on identical black slacks, blue aprons, and blue (I'm talking crayola blue) shirts. They were a coloful phalanx at the bar, that's for sure!

The whole bill came to $22, plus tip. Rock on!

We had to drive a bit to get to this restaurant, as it's in East Memphis, which is suburban. However, it was worth the drive, as the service and the food were excellent. It was a nice change of pace, too-we'd been spending our time in pub restaurants, places where you expect noise and pitchers of beer and the fanciest item on the menu is a chef salad.

As soon as we walked in, we immediately noticed that we were the youngest people in the restaurant (we are in our early 30s). We didn't care, but that tells you the crowd. Emma and I decided right away to forego the appetizers in favor of sharing a dessert. She had a braised pork chop, which I think she actually clapped her hands over it was so good, and I had grilled salmon, which came with perfectly balanced and interesting sides. Oh yes, civilization! The waitress's wine suggestions (by the glass) were spot-on, too. Our dessert was worth skipping the appetizers for-it was a lava chocolate cake with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream. The second we put our fork into the cake, it oozed molten chocolate all over the plate. Oh, heaven! The total cost of our dinner without tip was $78, which we thought was reasonable all things considered and about what we'd expected to pay.

Although the drive is long, maybe 20 minutes from downtown, I recommend the trip if you are craving a fine dining experience in Memphis.

All I know is that Emma and I were so hung over on Sunday morning, we could barely speak, forget walking more than a block to procure nourishment and hydrating liquids. So when we croaked to the desk clerk at our hotel, "Must be close-need greasy food," she immediately and softly told us about George's.

It's like stepping back in time-the seats in the booths are saggy and the vinyl is cracked, the linoleum tables are clean but dated, and the staff looks like they've seen it all and then some. Clearly our hangovers were small potatoes in this place, so we felt right at home.

And boy was the food good-pancakes, eggs, grits, and biscuits (oh, the biscuits!). Butter clearly is one of the food groups in this place, and the coffee never stopped flowing.

Now, if you want to eat here, be sure to either not spend all your money in the bars the night before, or stop at a cash machine on your way over since they do not take credit cards. I had to run to a cash machine after eating biscuits and bacon-not advisable with a hangover, or in fact, in any state of health. But do eat at George's, even if you're not hung over. It's simply awesome.

Full disclosure: I am not a rabid fan. When I was maybe 8 or 9 years old, I thought Elvis (the young Elvis) was really, really cute, and that's the extent of it. I always thought Graceland would be one of those fun, wacky, campy, and tacky things to do on a road trip, just to say I'd been there and to take a picture in the jungle room.

But I was not prepared for the emotional wallop a visit to his house actually packs to an attentive visitor. To say that knowing the basics of Elvis' life story adds to the experience is putting it lightly-I knew nothing other than he was skinny and rich, sang a few great songs, and then he got fat and killed himself, leaving poor Lisa Marie to marry Michael Jackson. Thankfully, my friend (and catalyst for the visit) Emma knows heaps about him, his career, and his family, so she told me bits throughout the weekend and while we were walking through the grounds. Hello--we were there for 4 hours!! We got on the bus that takes us over with these two very cute guys, but they immediately outpaced us and left us in the dust. Once they were gone, I was forced to really observe and think about Elvis' home since Emma spent minutes on the minutia, which left me with time to kill.

Anyway, back to the emotional wallop. Obviously the Presley estate presents a very one-sided account of his life through the excellent audio tour you all get; however, if you've half a brain and a grain of salt you can guess at what else was going on.

Yes, it was amazing to see the jungle room, to see his mirrored basement ceilings, and to see the seemingly miles of gold and platinum records and awards that fill rooms of his estate. And the planes and cars-give me one of them and I'll say goodnight. It was interesting to note that some of the pieces were hopelessly tacky, but others, like the 18-foot white couch, was surprisingly modern and worthy of imitation.

But, you can't deny the poignancy of Graceland. The sense of lost potential, of a greatness that would have continued unabated, is palpable. Lisa Marie's swing set, left where it was set up on the lawn, even after Elvis' separation from Priscilla, broke my heart to bits. The video of Elvis demonstrating karate-badly-also broke my heart. Did he really get his black belt, or was it awarded to his vanity?

I left Graceland with a greater appreciation for Elvis's life, his values (which seem to be very Southern and American values to me), and his music. You don't have to spend 4 hours there, but it's definitely one of those places you should see thoughtfully, not at a gallop and not with a snicker, before you die.

This joint oozes cool. You have to come here just to get some of that cool, and it's so thick that it doesn't wear off too quickly either.

So all these founding fathers of rock’n’roll recorded some of their earliest songs here, including Elvis (natch), Roy Orbison, and Jerry Lee Lewis for example-and many contemporary masters like U2 have recorded here as well, ever since some local musician had the genius idea to open it up again as part museum/part studio.

I didn't have the chutzpah, but my friend Emma grabbed the famous microphone that Elvis probably sang into at one time or another and belted out, "It's All Right Mamma!" All the grayhairs who were on the tour with us loved that one (I snapped the picture).

Oh, and since we are, after all, two women on the loose, I will mention that our tour guide was super cute in that rockabilly kind of way. I think he called himself Dakota or something equally earnest/ironic.

The food in the café isn't bad either. We had milkshakes as we waited for the tour to start, and you know we had to buy the Sun Studio shot glasses!

I swear to you that we did not intend to see the Peabody ducks. I swear on my passport! But we were, um, thirsty, really wanted a cocktail, and were right next to the Peabody Hotel. In fact, when we first walked into the lobby bar, we were kind of miffed (as only New Yorkers can be) that there was not a free seat in the house, and why were all these people standing by the fountain, blocking my view of the cute bartender?!

The ducks, my dear. The man in the red coat cued the music, and the ducks shook the water off their tail feathers one by one and charmingly waddled out of the fountain and out of the lobby. Children were gleeful; moms took pictures of the glee.

Well, now that that's over, let's grab a seat and have a cocktail. And so we did, just one, since they were strong and sweet, and we were being encroached upon by burly football fans from the left. And so should you in this city of music, whenever possible, although preferably not around 5pm if you take your cocktails as seriously as we do.

We resisted, oh how we resisted, Silky's-the name was just to suave, too entrapping for us. But, as the evening's hours got smaller and smaller, our bar choices dwindled as bartenders kicked us out one after another. Oh, Mr. O'Sullivan, will you sell us a beer?

So we bluffed our way past the bouncer (I think that, unless you'd paid cover earlier, you weren't allowed in?) and resumed drinking. The best part-they had a dance floor, where we danced to a few tunes before this bar too closed up and booted us out. I may have also possibly bummed a cigarette from a testy Red Sox fan, but that is debatable (the cigarette part, since I clearly remember him being testy). Anyway, in summation: a worthy spot on the pub crawl. In fact, you may want to come here earlier in the evening, as it seems to be a very popular spot and may contain a fine crowd if you get there before testy Bostonians chase the fine ones all away.

Well, this is the last bar we went into on Beale Street that Saturday night . . . I think, I mean, as best I can remember. And it was very crowded downstairs, in both of (all of?) the rooms. They had a DJ who seemed to be playing mostly loud rap music. To escape the noise, I went up to the rooftop deck-it was quieter up there, but cold, so I didn't stay long; although I imagine that, in warmer months, it's a prime location-you can see all the way up and down Beale Street and could possibly watch your friend sneak off with a hottie if you were keeping tabs and your vision hadn't yet blurred. However, over all, the vibe in the joint was fun. Alfred's is the last bar on the street to close, I think, so if you're still drinking at 2am, all roads (Beale Street that is) lead to Alfred's.

Maybe the newest bar on the block, the inside looks great, clean and new, with nice brick walls, wood bars, and various rooms inside and out to prowl through. Emma and I chose not to prowl, as we were immediately comfortable in what may be called the Tap Room, the first barroom on your left as you walk in. There were comfy stools at tables scattered around, and they were selling beers out the window-no open container laws, go Memphis!-and the crowd was riveted to the TV. Ol’ Mississippi was playing University of Tennessee in a big football game. I suppose there's a rivalry. Anyway, young and old alike were rooting and cheering, and I ended up explaining all about downs, yards, and two-point conversions to Emma (I only know more about football than she does because she's Irish-trust me, I'd had a few pints of courage at that point). Well, Tennessee won, the bar cleared out, and Emma and I set ourselves to the serious task of imbibing. We got antsy without the crowds around us, so we moved on to a smaller, cozier bar down the block that had a blues band heating up the stage.

People, this place is so highly overrated! Our Frommer's guide writes about this store as if it's a place not to miss-well, it looked like it was trying to sell a bunch of junk. Granted, the array of items (washcloths to peppermint sticks, Elvis candles to 2000 Millennium souvenirs) was staggering (less impressive, more bewildering), but there was nothing there that I'd want to buy-everything was novelty, low quality and not even worth buying as a joke. I don't mean to slag this store, since it's such a Memphis institution, but I'd rather shop at my local 99-cent store any day! At least there the items are organized and recognizable.

For those of you who like to check out your local independent bookseller when visiting a new city, I cannot recommend David-Kidd Books enough. It has a marvelous merchandising accumulation, with the store displays showcasing books of interest to all kinds of readers. Emma and I spent an hour browsing. Finally, I bought a book and a CD, and Emma bought a book as well.

This is located in the Laurelwood Shopping Center. There are other stores in the shopping center that may interest you, but we came specifically to see the bookstore. If you are staying downtown, it's about a 15-minute drive, and a straight shot, too.

Em and I spent the most amount of time in a bar called Rum Boogie Cafe, which I suppose also serves food but we just partook in the beverages. Rum Boogie is made up of two seemingly separate joints, and one was attached to the other through this secret door, or at least, it was secret to those of us who'd already had a few drinks. Apparently, you could move between the two bars easily if you wanted (read: were sober).

The first bar was a narrow but deep place, with a blues band playing excellent tunes at the back, the bartender serving up bottles with a rakish smile to the left, and the secret door in the wall keeping its secret on the right. Emma and I started here, moved on to Pat O'Briens, and then returned here until the band stopped playing, when the staff kindly pushed us into the adjacent barroom through that secret door. Then we sat at that bar (Rum Boogie?!) and tried to meet the locals, but instead, we met a bunch of randy motorcycling husbands on leave from their wives for the weekend (hey, they were buying!). What I'm trying to say is that Memphis is a party town, and if you go to Beale Street, you're going to get swept up in it, so relax and go with the flow. I guarantee you'll have a blast.