Roadfood said the rib plate was the real hit, but they don’t live in Memphis so we went with the other advice to get the cheeseburger. Yes, The cheeseburger. We were not disappointed.

Slaw-on-burger. Just order it the way it comes.

The service was great and the clientele was nothing but camo and Carharts. Not too many people dined inside but we did because we had to stay put – our desert was waiting across the street.

We were told that we had to get pies from The Pie Lady, a kind older woman who runs a pie shop out of her house, after we ate at Craigs. As you can see, the home is clearly labeled.

Inside was a trove of magical light and buttery crusts.

We ordered two apricot fried pies and ate them on the road. They tasted like homemade jam and dirty fruit. That is kind of what I call the decor of the place as well: Homemade Jam and Dirty Fruit – it is a distinct southern style. I’d go back for sure. Whole Pie style.

I pulled these graphics from the ol' Wikipedia under a search for "The American South"

So you can see some of the overlap (check my "midwest zones" entry as well) and changes to what we consider the contemporary south:

So that is what we do with Oklahoma! I'll have to correct it in my zones.

Here is The Biggest Butte Southern Zone Interpretive Map:

1. You must be able to accommodate your dietary needs at places like Circle K, McDonalds, and Flying J Truck Stops without commentary about things being bad or good or gluten this or that.
2. You must be able to “get ready” within five minutes.
3. You must refrain from saying, “Oh this is so great, I need to come back here.” Because that is annoying since you are already there, in an awesome place.

That being said – you know where I really want to revisit? Cairo, IL.

I thought about going back there the whole time I was there.

I took the five mile detour after being on the road for nine hours so I was a little too bugged out to do any serious exploring. The tired mind comes up with the kind of young-gal-in –abandoned-building murder scenarios that would make Rob Zombie barf.

So I want to go back. Maybe with Rob Zombie. Maybe with you, should you fulfill the above set of requirements. You should also know that there is a second set of requirements that go further into musical taste, conversational aptitude, and apocalyptic survival skills, but let’s just see if you can concoct a peanut-allergy, vegan friendly meal out of the cold case at 7-11 first.

Those people you see there? They are on a proper tour. Katie and I were doing our own delirious tourist thing in the 120degree heat. We’d taken one of those giant air-conditioned bus “Super City” tours the day before and felt we had enough information to go on by ourselves.

Marie Laveau, a very popular voodoo priestess, is said to be buried (entombed?) in the Glapion family crypt. It wasn’t too hard to find because it is the one marked with a bunch of handwritten XXX’s and small offerings at the front. As soon as I saw all the coins, candles, lip balms, hotel room keys, and the single pair high heeled shoes, I regretted not gathering more information (a rare regret from this map/voodoo/crazyladies/info/history fan).

After I snapped this pic a few Euros came up and started their own photo session so I wandered off to the side so we could all pretend we were taking unique photos. I went just far enough to observe my little sister watching a middle-aged woman in a bright African-national-color-themed shawl walk up to the tomb, snacking on a bag of Wise (or similar off-brand) cheese-powdered corn chips, survey the offerings and turn to the small group of Euros and ask, “What’s this mix?”

According to Katie, their accents made it impossible to explain to the cheese doodle woman that this was the grave of a Voodoo Priestess and covered in XXX’s of blood or whatever. They gave up and walked away. This is when I walked up and gave Marie Laveau my minty CO Bigealow lip balm. I put it near a melted candle and two Holiday Inn Express room card keys.

The woman asked me, “what’s the deal with this?” And I, using information from my tour the day before, catechism, and a paper written about folk religion I wrote my first year in community college, made up a hodge podge story about Marie and Voodoo offerings. I was inspired by her attention AND her constant chomping on the cheese doodles so I said, “for example – if you leave her some chips and ask to never go hungry, you will always be food fortunate.”

She looked at the mix of stuff near the tomb and said, “I need money…. those are cute shoes though.” She said the last thing like she was debating on looting the offerings.  “..real cute shoes.” (note the strappy pumps in the above photo)

Then she turns to me and asks, “But if you are Christian..this stuff is bad, right? You don’t need this.”

I look at her with my best, “that’s between you and the lord” look and she paused, circled the shoes one more time, then reached into her snack bag, grabbed a handful and threw the cheese-powder-covered-crumbles over the entire display of offerings at the base of the tomb, like bread crumbs over a casserole. 

It was quite a disturbing gesture, even more so when she did it again the second time with even less pomp and grace, like there was a section of the tomb she had missed or some pigeons she wanted to kill.

Things are probably different there at night. You can Voodoo in private. Night visitors most likely don’t ask questions and probably carry better snack food.

I’ve heard that if your request to Marie is granted that you have to return to New Orleans to thank her.  I’ve been nervous ever since I inadvertently encouraged the woman in the shawl to spread her cheese doodles on the resting place of the beloved Marie Laveau. But things have actually been on the up and up for me. Maybe Madame Laveau likes my lip balm more than anything.

Info and a list of cemeteries HERE and HERE

(above photo is from a different cemetery than St. Louis Number One – I can’t remember the name)

I’m out in sunny LA. We left just moments after a serious mid-south tourist sesh. I hope that I can pay proper tribute to The Crystal Shrine Grotto and Graceland Too in the next couple of days – before the excitement wears off.

For now, I can tell you this – I can start at the end of my night on July 14th. At the end of a two hour too-close-for-comfort-loose-dentured-touchy-feely-mania-induced-name-dropping tour inside a musty tomb of Elvis memorabilia, we walked out on the porch to find a group of five people waiting to get inside Graceland Too, waiting for their turn, looking at us – trying to read our faces – anticipating awe and wonder and confirmation that the drive to Holly Springs was a great idea.

“How was it?” The only guy in the group asked.

“I have no idea.” I said, “I don’t know yet.”

I wasn’t sure if there was anything in my personal language reservoir that could express to anybody how that was. I needed to sit down. Have a coke. Review my emotions. Wash my hands.

And the next day, I read this and was even more dumbfounded that the author had had nearly the exact same experience of what I thought was an un-replicate-able experience. Down to the shoulder taps and obsession with rakes and millions of dollars and flags of New York. Of course the author of that article doesn’t mention being shown a personal photo of a raccoon that our host, the #1 Elvis fan in the world, shot on his porch. He showed that to us.

The moss has clearly formed the face of Jesus on the side of the tree. Should I call the local news or what?

If you don’t see it, step back a few feet from the monitor -- maybe this will help:

Miss Leah actually alerted a security guard in a small truck but he wasn’t really too impressed. Maybe if it would have been Michael Jackson…

It’s been a very devotional week. More soon.

Luck was shining on me because one of the super events recommended in the book was happening the day after I got it! As promised – an exciting event  just a short drive from Memphis: The Annual Corinth, Mississippi Slugburger Festival.

The festival started in 1988 and is essentially a small gathering of fair food, rides, and duh – slugburgers all in the quaint downtown of Corinth, a place also known for its Civil War history.

The Slugburger is a deep-fried mashed up patty of maybe a little meat and “filler”. According to the Borroum’s Drugstore menu, it originated in the great depression when meat was scarce. Any excuse to deep fry…

I tried one and it tasted like the skins of a Morningstar Farms fake chicken nugget. I do like mustard and pickles though so it was a winner:

**note the tablecloth of the Slugburger booth.

I took this picture knowing full well that our elders are people too and not tourist attractions but when you look this sweet eating a slugburger on the street, people need to see it:

We ordered old-fashioned sodas at Borroum’s – they were served in old-fashioned Styrofoam cups and tasted like extract of Charms blow-pops.

Here is the inside of the store:

And a picture of what being a dart vs balloon sharp-shooter will get you:

I’m going to use that as my personal identification/license plate from now on.

We didn’t interact with the locals as much as I would have liked. I believe my travel companion was too anxious (or nervous once he saw how super good I am at darts). I personally was mesmerized by the fair rides. They remind me of home and Truffaut. Heck, I remind myself of Truffaut:

I cannot wait to check out more of the day jaunts recommended in the book. I love driving on these southern highways. There is a hodge-podge car lot every seventeen miles so if your car breaks down you can just get another (or from the looks of it – the part you need). Most offer financing.

Love this place.