Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Walkin' in Memphis

fol·ly
/ˈfälē/
noun
1.lack of good sense; foolishness.

Jonathan and I were dressed to the nines Friday as we cruised into a fancy joint called Folk's Folly.

It wasn't until much, much later that night that I Googled the second half of that odd Memphis eatery name to reveal perfect irony. This makes no sense right now, but bear with me, I have suffered head trauma. This post was supposed to be a review of an amazing dining experience, so I'll start there.


Dressed in one of my favorite LBDs with a face full of makeup that took more focus than normal, I waltzed in beside my husband like we owned the place. We had a 6:30 reservation and our bellies were empty. The restaurant was a fascinating place: full of cozy little rooms that separated groups of diners and white cloths on every table. We ordered wine and heard the specials, and understand me when I say we went for it. The actual reason for our weekend in Memphis was a business meeting Jonathan had nailed earlier that afternoon. This was a sort of celebration, after all, so I went for both the surf and the turf.

I've had lobster in lobster dip. I've had lobster on lobster pizza. I've had lobster in seafood bisque. And probably all of those dishes were from Red Lobster. That's it. Jonathan could see the relief on my face when our waiter Kevin asked if he could remove it from the shell for me. Lord yes, Kevin. It was absolutely delicious. The petite filet that accompanied it was topped with parsley butter and cooked to perfection. Every bite melted in my mouth and it's a contender for best steak of my life. Jonathan was much more certain that his steak was hands down the best he's ever had. It was a Frenched prime rib-eye that had been aged for no more and no less than 60 days.


We also shared a blueberry cheesecake that would top our best desserts list. It was not cloyingly sweet and it almost had a salty kick. I'm no food critic, but it was yummy. We left an amount of money at the table that matched our experience {read: a lot of dollars}, and we sauntered hand-in-hand into the parking lot, making more than enough "walking in Memphis" jokes. Too bad the best one was yet to come...



Now this story is going to take an interesting turn, so hold on to your hats. I could tell you about the bar fight I got into on Beale Street, a brawl that landed me in the ER {you should see the other guy and all that jazz}, but that would be a lie. At least the bar part. Because we didn't make it to the bar. We did make it to the emergency room, though.

I'm not going to paint a picture of what happened, because it's gross. I fell in the hotel room when we stopped by after dinner and my forehead caught the nightstand on my way down. What followed was an impressive reaction on my husband's part, and the destruction of about three hotel towels. We raced to the nearest hospital where I got the all-clear on brain damage and two stitches.

I don't want to take away from the image above, but I will say I look a little different. I have a lovely cut and swelling that has found its way to my eyes. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it did a few days ago, but I'm already counting down to stitch-removal Friday. Perhaps I'll look a little less like Frankenstein at that point.

As it turns out, the folly from Folk's did not come until after the meal. I will now kick back with another round of Advil and try not to make too many facial expressions. Maybe the next time we make the trek to Tennessee, I'll do a better job of walkin' in Memphis...

Happy Tuesday, my friends. I sure hope your long weekend was well-spent!

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