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.

