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November 14, 2018 - Image 14

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The Michigan Daily

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Wednesday, November 14, 2018 // The Statement
7B

I

f you don’t want to
be stereotyped, don’t
tell
people
you’re
from the South.
People will usually be
hesitant to make judgements
on background information
they receive, but letting
people know you grew up in
the Bible Belt is a surefire
way to get pegged as a
country-music loving, farm-
raised, bull-riding redneck
or hillbilly.
I
mean,
they’re
not
entirely
wrong,
though.
Have you been to Missouri?
But I’m from Memphis. If
you think it’s like Nashville,
you’re wrong. But if you
think it’s like Detroit, I’d
give you a pass, because it’s
not too far off. But Memphis
is Memphis and there’s no
other way to put it.
So I grew up in the heart
of the South in good ol’
Memphis, Tennessee. It’s
funny how different the

perception
is compared
to the reality.
It’s one of those
cases where people
think one thing but
it turns out to be the
complete opposite. We
don’t have that much clout
on country music (though
Johnny Cash started his
career there), but we’re
built on hip hop, blues and
rock-n-roll. We’re the blue
district in a sea of red. We’re
the cultural preservation
where all other things are
changing.
But if there’s anything
about Memphis that’s not
a far departure from the
southern stereotype, it’s the
cuisine.
Memphis has a rep for a
lot of things: music, a history
of civil rights activism and
ducks. But nothing defines
Memphis better than its
food.
T

here’s
twofood
genres that I’d say
best exemplify the
city. And number one would
probably be hard to miss:
Memphis barbecue.
It’s unavoidable. You’ve
heard of it. But the odds
that you’ve actually had it
are slim.
In October, I went on
a trip with the Kayaking
Club at the University of
Michigan to Slippery Rock,
Pennsylvania. After a long
day in the river, we decided
to Yelp the best nearby
restaurant
and
take
a
chance, since we were kind
of in the middle of nowhere.

So
two
Midwesterners,
a
West Coaster and
a New Yorker walk
into a barbecue place. A
Memphian sits down.
It was pretty clear they
had no idea of the depth
that barbecue goes – I could
tell when they were shell-
shocked from me asking if
the barbecue was dry-rub or
wet-rub. To them, barbecue
was just another meal, an
entree to get by. Here’s
the proper breakdown of
the fine detail you should
always
pay
attention
to
when judging barbecue: wet
or dry, sweet or sour and
type of meat.
Memphis
barbecue
is
pretty well defined. Slow
cooked pork ribs, almost
always
dry
rub,
with
vinegar and pepper-based

sauce or rub.
These are the fine details
that
are
etched
into
a
Memphis history that go
unnoticed by outsiders.
Continuing on the road
trip, trying to kill some
time, we played a guessing
game that involved giving
hints to lead the others to
the word we were thinking
of. So when it was my turn
to give hints, I gave a few
that I thought would be a
dead giveaway
“Hound Dog.”
When
they
responded
with silence, I put in a less
confident,
“Heartbreak
Hotel,” before giving in and
saying, “Graceland.”
At the time, I wasn’t
sure if it was just because

they
were
uncultured
swine or not, but I thought
Elvis Presley should be a
universally recognized icon.
Then I realized something.
We
had
primarily
been
listening to country music.
The unspoken rule of long
road trips is that you play
music to cater to everyone’s
tastes. So odds are they had
subconsciously
grouped
my taste of music based on
my Southern roots. But the
capital of country music is
Nashville. Trust me, it’s not
Memphis.
Part of it is growing up
right next to Graceland. But
part of it might be like it is
with barbecue — there’s so
much that isn’t immediately
obvious until you’ve lived
there. And the same with
B.B.
King
and
Justin
Timberlake and Three 6

Mafia and so on. It’s not
something you just group
together as one thing unless
it’s music in Memphis.
I

f you like spice, you’d
love the second food
type
food:
wings.
I’m not going to lie, I’m an
addict for wings. I had a
near-two-week
streak
of
eating at Mr. Spots in Ann
Arbor every day. It was way
worse in Memphis.
It’s a subtler part of
the city you don’t really
appreciate until you leave
Memphis.
When
I
first
came to Ann Arbor, the
first thing I looked for were
local wing shops. It’s not
really a struggle you’d find
in Memphis, where every
corner has a shop that’s at

least an eight out of 10.
Inside
the
good
food
bubble of Memphis, you
don’t really realize how
different it is elsewhere.
L

ast month I was
shopping for a used
bike and found a
guy on Craigslist who lived
in Farmington Hills. He
wanted to meet late in the
evening, and though I was
a little spooked at first, he
was kind enough. He was
an Indian national who had
run out of luck on his U.S.
visa, and unfortunately was
about to be deported and
therefore was selling his
stuff cheap.
We conversed a little
bit about the bike before
gradually drifting to discuss
where
we
were
from.
When I told him I’m from
Tennessee, his disapproval
was obvious. I drew a
contemptful
side-eyed
glance from him, a joking
(but not really) raise in the
bike’s price, even the not
so subtle, “I hate Trump.”
It was clear he thought of
Tennessee as a backward
place responsible for the
country’s
reactionary
immigration policies, and
that I was a reflection of it.
I never did correct him.
Probably still thinks he
sold his bike to a right-wing
country hick who helped
him get deported.
But that’s most people.
Maybe not to that extreme,
but a lot of South is unfairly
grouped as one stereotype.
You tell people you’re from
the South, expect questions.
“Where’s your accent?”
or “Is this your first time
seeing snow?”
Expect skeptical glances
during
election
season.
Expect to be defaulted as a
country music lover.
Because I’ve been there
and done that. But don’t
worry, I’m not from any
place in the South. I’m from
Memphis, born and raised.

Taste of the South

BY TIEN LE, DAILY SPORTS WRITER

Memphis has a rep for a lot of things:
music, a history of civil rights activism
and ducks. But nothing defines
Memphis better than its food.

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