Author: John Klyce Minervini

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Food & Drink Hungry Memphis

Belly Acres Owner Ben McLean Takes Steps to Feed Hungry Seniors

Step into Belly Acres, and you’ll spot something a bit unusual, even for freaky-deaky Midtown: a 38-year-old heterosexual male with bright green hair. What’s even more surprising is that the guy isn’t a customer or a waiter…he’s the owner.

“I like it, but my kids aren’t crazy about it,” admits Belly Acres’ Ben McLean. “They asked me not to get out of the car when I pick them up from school.”

Of course, nobody needs a reason to go green. To be honest, the troll doll look kind of suits him. But in McLean’s case, it’s more than just a fashion statement. He’s raising money to help feed hungry seniors.

“When I was a kid,” recalls McLean, “my dad drove Meals on Wheels in the church van. I got to see how it would touch these families’ lives, how appreciative they were.”

“MIFA is helping people who really need it,” he adds, “and I always knew I wanted to be a part of that. It just gives them one less thing to worry about, you know?”

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It’s called FitBen, and here’s how it works. During the month of March, McLean is wearing a Garmin Vivofit, which tracks his steps. He’s posting weekly totals and asking people to donate to MIFA based on those numbers.

For instance, you could pledge 1 cent for every 100 steps that McLean takes in March. If he ends up taking 312,440 steps, you would donate $31. (Click here to find out more and sign up.)

“It’s March for Meals,” says McLean, “and as a restaurant owner, I march around all day. At any given moment, I’m a waiter, a dishwasher, a cook, or a cashier. So I figured, why not use that as a way to raise awareness and help feed hungry seniors?”

During the first week of the challenge, McLean walked 117,000 steps. Then, in week two, he upped it to 216,000 steps. Although he doesn’t know how much money has been pledged to MIFA, he says his dream is to raise $50,000.

“You gotta shoot for the moon,” says McLean. “If we get to $50,000, then I’ll keep my hair green all year long.”

Want to celebrate with McLean? There’s a wrap party at Belly Acres on March 31st. He adds that his shoes and Vivofit were donated by Breakaway Running, and his hair was donated by Dabbles Hair Company.

So here’s my question. The hair is green…why not go all the way? Eyebrows?

“Yeah, I couldn’t do that,” answers McLean. “I had to draw the line somewhere, and I drew it at the eyebrows.”

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

New Books from Joy Bateman and Gerald Duff

Over the past 10 years, Joy Bateman has written and illustrated seven books about food, overflowing with recipes from notable chefs in cities such as Memphis, Nashville, and New Orleans. It’s an astonishing literary outpouring, and it prompts the question — why? Why write about food?

In Bateman’s case, the answer turns out to be pretty astonishing. Growing up in East Memphis, she was always hungry. Her family wasn’t poor, but her mother had an eating disorder, so there was never any food in the fridge.

“She would go to Knickerbocker Restaurant at least once or twice a day,” Bateman remembers of her mother. “But she wouldn’t eat. She would just order a coffee and read The New York Times and Women’s Wear Daily.”

To keep food in her belly, Bateman would dine with neighbors or bike to Shorty’s Barbecue on Summer. But her culinary awakening came later, at age 18. She was visiting Palm Beach, Florida, when she ordered the sautéed calves’ livers at Petite Marmite.

“I can still remember it like I’m sitting at that table,” she recalls. “So fragrant. It was fried with onions and bacon, and it was just delicious. Crispy on the outside and tender.”

Those livers launched Bateman, who sells ads for Memphis magazine, on a culinary adventure that took her from the desert of her childhood to the oasis of maturity. Because, she freely admits, no one can appreciate good food like a girl who grew up without it.

Bateman’s latest book, The Art of Dining in New Orleans 2, features recipes from celebrity chefs such as Susan Spicer and John Besh, plus restaurants like Antoine’s and Galatoire’s. Each page is enlivened by Bateman’s own illustrations, oil paintings executed in a bright, whimsical style.

Looking for a place to start? The author recommends the Whole Roasted Head of Cauliflower from the Domenica Restaurant in the Roosevelt Hotel. Delicately flavored with lemon and bay leaf, it is baked until golden and served with whipped feta cheese.

“Lots of folks know the Roosevelt for its famous Sazerac bar,” muses Bateman. “But they ought to know it for Domenica, which is a real culinary treasure.”

They say blood runs thicker than water. True enough. But barbecue sauce runs thicker than blood.

That’s the premise behind the novel Memphis Ribs, recently reissued by Brash Books. To judge a book by its cover — always a good idea — it’s a slasher of the first order. The illustration features a bloody skull, messy barbecue bones, and a pistol tucked into the pocket of an apron.

But the reality is more nuanced. Author Gerald Duff, who hails from East Texas, has won literary awards from Ploughshares and St. Andrews. He has also been nominated for a PEN/Faulkner prize and an Edgar Allan Poe Award.

In other words, this is literary fiction masquerading as a police procedural. And it’s actually pretty good. Entertainment Weekly praised Duff’s “unerring ear for dialect,” and Booklist pronounced Memphis Ribs “as sweet and satisfying as a barbecue dinner, without the fat.”

Take the following passage, which describes the construction of the famed Cotton Carnival Royal Barge.

“Well, lack a day and fuck a duck, Boyd said to himself, lifting a hand to pat his hair, tossed as it was by the breeze off the river. I’m presented again with lead and must create gold of it. There’s nothing to do but make a start. But I swear I cannot fathom what sort of paint or how much of it I’m going to be forced to slather all over that monstrosity. Surely the budget will go bust long before I’m finished, but that will be their problem and not mine.”

The plot hinges on four — count ’em, four — bloody murders, all of which are somehow wrapped up with Memphis In May. There are poor, black drug dealers and rich, white heiresses. There are tourists and beat cops and carnival queens. Can detective J.W. Ragsdale solve these seemingly unconnected crimes in time to save Barbecue Fest?

Only time will tell — but in the meantime, there’s plenty of pork shoulder to go around. And laugh-out-loud humor, most of which originates in the banter between Ragsdale (lazy, white) and his partner, Tyrone Walker (smart-ass, black).

As a way of dissecting the social order, it may not be that original — think Die Hard, Rush Hour, Lethal Weapon — but hey, it makes for a diverting read. I give it 12 ribs and a side of baked beans.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Rizzo’s reopens; the Arcade now open late.

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

Rizzo’s Diner reopened last week at its new location on South Main.

The menu at Rizzo’s is one-of-a-kind; crammed with the kinds of crazy juxtapositions that could only come from the twisted brain of Michael Patrick. This, after all, is a man who became a chef only after he got kicked out of high school for fighting.

Take the Lobster Pronto Pup ($14). Even the name is a provocation, combining haute cuisine (lobster) with the lowest common denominator (carnival food). All right, it’s a bit of a gimmick. But this tempura-fried treat lives up to the hype: It is plump and buttery, with a mustard aioli that is off the hook.

The same goes for the Lamb Belly Tacos ($9) and the Chorizo Meatloaf with Green Tomato Gravy ($18). Seriously, who charges $18 for meatloaf? But take one bite, and you’ll know it’s worth it.

As for the new space, it feels like Rizzo’s has come home. For starters, it’s a lot bigger. The new kitchen is almost as big as the old diner — big enough, says Patrick, for an enthusiastic chef “to do backflips on the line.” And the décor — cherry wood, exposed brick, high ceilings, abstract canvases — feels just right for this arts district.

That’s a relief, considering how long Rizzo’s was out of commission. The old spot closed on November 1st, but a persistent, leaky roof at the new place meant that Patrick couldn’t open until late February. Especially in the food industry, three months is an eternity.

“I was always told take when you think you’re gonna open and add 30 days,” says Patrick. “But realistically, we needed to add 60 or 75.”

One other complication: Winter weather has delayed Rizzo’s liquor license, so for now, it’s BYO wine. But Patrick hopes to have booze in time for his grand opening on March 14th. He also hopes to celebrate by hiring a dozen bagpipers. And no, he’s not kidding.

Rizzo’s Diner, 492 S. Main, 304-6985

rizzosmemphis.com

The other day, I was sitting at a booth in The Arcade Restaurant. Last one on the left, by the back door. I noticed that the confetti-colored tabletop was getting pretty worn, and I thought, Gosh, that has to be from the ’50s. Why don’t they replace it?

Then I remembered: Elvis used to sit here. Hell, it was probably Elvis’ elbows that made those little marks. They’re never gonna replace that tabletop.

The Arcade, Memphis’ oldest restaurant, recently started staying open late on weekends: from 7 a.m. till 11 p.m. on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. For now, they aren’t changing the menu. But they have added a lineup of cocktails including build-your-own bloody marys and mimosas.

To me, the most promising is the “Shake it Like the King” ($9), a vanilla milkshake spiked with Bailey’s, banana rum, peanut butter, and fresh bananas.

Back in the ’50s, when Elvis was a regular, South Main was Memphis’ answer to Times Square, crowded with neon signs and clattering trolleys. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was alive and well, and the train station at GE Patterson was still the most reliable way to get from here to there.

That’s why The Arcade is staying open late. Because all of a sudden, there are people. There’s even a bit of a nightlife. What better reason to order some sweet potato pancakes — for dinner?

The Arcade Restaurant, 540 S. Main, 526-5757

arcaderestaurant.com

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Now open: Pink Diva Cupcakery and Carol’s Cheesecakes.

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

Vegan cupcakes aren’t supposed to taste this good, right? They’re supposed to have those weird little fibers in them; they’re supposed to taste kind of like banana.

Forget what you know. Cassi Conyers, who is the mastermind behind Pink Diva Cupcakery, is baking some of the best cupcakes in town — vegan or no.

A bit of background. When it comes to baking, eggs pull a lot of weight. They moisten; they leaven; they bind. So the trick to vegan baking is finding a good egg substitute. Most recipes call for things like flaxseed, silken tofu, and banana. Hence those weird little fibers.

But when she set out to build a recipe, Conyers ditched years of vegan wisdom and struck out on her own. Her secret?

“Think back to middle school science class,” says Conyers. “What did you use to make your volcano? Baking soda and vinegar.”

Justin Fox Burks

That may sound too good to be true — but trust me, try the cupcakes. Moist and fluffy, they taste like your sixth grade birthday party. Priced at $3, they come in flavors like Bluff City Blueberry and Crosstown Unicorn Patrol. And — best part — they look as good as they taste, topped with rococo swirls of confetti-colored frosting.

Honestly, I expected to like Snickerdoodle the best. I’m a big cinnamon guy. But I’ve got to give it to Cookies and Cream. These chocolaty little wonders are almost too moist to be real.

Also? I’ve got a hard job.

Of course, it hasn’t always been cake and frosting for Conyers. Last year, she tried to open a vegan restaurant on Jackson, but the project never took off. Conyers says she learned a lot from the experience, including how to build a business model and market herself. Plus she’s found a willing partner in Midtown Crossing Grill, from whom she leases space.

“I’m a late bloomer,” admits 33-year-old Conyers. “I’m like Jesus. This is my resurrection.”

This new venture started last December, when Imagine Vegan Café asked Conyers to pinch-hit for their pastry chef, who was vacationing in England. Her first batch of cupcakes sold out in 24 hours, and soon she was baking 4 to 5 dozen per week. On the strength of that success, she launched Pink Diva in February.

It’s an impressive story, especially when you consider that Conyers is a single mother who, until recently, was working full-time as a chiropractor’s assistant. Check her out on instagram (@pinkdivacupcakery), where she routinely pairs her cupcakes with themed manicures from stylist Kandace Redmond.

It’s almost eerie how many Memphis chefs learned to cook at the elbows of their Italian grandmas. That’s where Michael Hudman and Andy Ticer of Hog & Hominy got their chops. Same goes for Jason Severs of Bari Ristorante.

Justin Fox Burks

Carol and Drew Minneci

Well, you can add another name to that list: Drew Minneci of Carol’s Cheesecakes, which opened in October. Although Minneci didn’t come to cooking the way you might imagine. For 30 years before he opened Carol’s, he was a long-haul trucker.

“Three and a half million miles without a single accident,” he crows. “I think that’s pretty good.”

It all started in 2008, when Minneci, an amateur baker, brought a slice of his cheesecake to work.

At the time, he was a part-time security guard at Kroger. After trying a bite, his co-workers promptly started ordering cakes of their own. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Justin Fox Burks

I recommend the mini-cake sampler ($5.95), a 12-pack split between two different flavors. I enjoyed the red velvet — pleasantly sweet and piquant — and the chocolate with chocolate ganache. Interested in a full slice? Try the Peanut Butter Cup. You can’t go wrong with chocolate and peanut butter.

I was also pleasantly surprised by the Cheese Puppies ($4.95), a deep-fried hybrid of cheese fritters and hush puppies. Crispy on the outside, warm and gooey on the inside, these little artery-cloggers are downright munchable, especially with a dollop of honey mustard. In the coming months, Minneci says he will unveil a new cheesecake pop.

So who is Carol? She’s Minneci’s wife, who first had the idea to bake a cheesecake with Bailey’s Irish Cream. It has since become one of the shop’s signature desserts.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Now Open: Midtown Crossing and Maui Brick Oven.

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

In recent years, Memphis has seen the resurgence of several neighborhoods that most people had written off: places like Overton Square, South Main, and Broad Avenue. Inevitably, those comebacks have been preceded by ferocious bouts of murmuring. Did you hear that Overton Square is coming back? I heard it’s coming back.

Now people have started murmuring about a new neighborhood: Crosstown. Buoyed by the redevelopment of the old Sears building, this formerly disinvested district is starting to show signs of life — and nowhere is that more apparent than at Midtown Crossing.

Justin Fox Burks

Midtown Crossing’s Octavia Young

This friendly neighborhood pub was started by chefs Jeremiah Shields and Octavia Young. Both cooked at Harrah’s in Tunica; both lost their jobs when the casino closed. But in this case, Tunica’s loss is Memphis’ gain.

“I love it here,” admits Young. “I was all set to move to North Carolina, but I wasn’t feeling it. It’s not my scene at all.”

Shields and Young want Midtown Crossing to be a center for the local community. Which is easy enough to say, but they actually seem to be following through on it. When I visited, there was a ukulele night going on in the main dining room.

The concept is simple. Take people who can play the uke and people who want to learn. Get everybody together in a big room — parents, children, hipsters, weirdos — and let them figure it out. All right, it gets pretty noisy. But it’s actually kinda cool when you think about it.

As far as food goes, Midtown Crossing serves an upscale take on pub grub: pizzas, sandwiches, nachos, cheese sticks. I say “upscale” because they do most of it in-house: They smoke their own meat and cure their own bacon. They pickle their own onions and make their own tomato jam.

The best thing I tried was the Wild Mushroom Pizza ($11). Although the mushrooms likely weren’t wild — they were too big, too unblemished — it was nonetheless quite tasty, served with crumbled bacon, caramelized onions, and topped with a fried egg.

Although many of the dishes lean heavily on meat, Young says she is interested in developing more vegetarian and vegan offerings. And she’s got time: Midtown Crossing just opened in December. For now, it seems to be hitting the right note. When I visited, it was crowded with a mix of twentysomethings, neighborhood regulars, and families.

When people talk about Maui Brick Oven, they tend to mention two things. First: gluten-free. Second: Germantown. And while both are technically correct, they also miss the point. Yes, Maui is out past Saddle Creek on Poplar. Yes, the restaurant eschews gluten, which is another word for wheat products.

But no one’s talking about the food, and food is the real story. It’s light, loaded with local vegetables — and actually pretty affordable. In a city swimming in greasy barbecue nachos, Maui is a breath of fresh air.

Take the Barefoot Bowl ($11). Beautiful portobello mushroom slices are arranged in a fan across the top of this hearty vegan dish, which includes pickled carrots, onions, and cauliflower, garlic kale, mandarin orange slices, and crispy garbanzo beans. It’s served over a bed of quinoa and brown rice and drizzled with Thai coconut sauce.

More to the point? It’s delicious.

“Sometimes these big burly dudes come in here for lunch,” says general manager Dana Doggrell, “and I can tell, they don’t know it’s gluten-free.

“And you know what?” he continues. “I don’t tell them. Because they’re enjoying it, and I don’t want to mess with that.”

Maui’s is owned by restaurateurs Taylor Berger and Michael Tauer, who launched it in partnership with the original Maui, in Hawaii. Tauer says he got the idea while vacationing with his wife, who can’t eat gluten.

In addition to pathbreaking grain bowls, the menu also features more traditional fare: things like crunchy coconut shrimp and brick-oven pizza. I particularly liked the Paradise Pesto Pizza ($14), loaded with artichoke hearts, roasted garlic, Greek olives, and feta.

If I had tasted that pizza without knowing it was gluten-free, you know what I would have said? Dang, that’s a good crust. Thin and crispy. Germantown or not, I’ll be heading back to Maui.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Learn to be a farmer at Roots Memphis Farm Academy.

CREDIT: Roots Memphis Farm Academy group

Lauren Farr has a lot on her plate. This 31-year-old mother of two works full-time as a paramedic for the Memphis Fire Department — not to mention, she’s five months’ pregnant. So what does she do with her free time?

Well, obviously, she’s becoming a farmer. When I met her, she was up to her elbows in potting soil, seeding some snapdragons in a greenhouse at Shelby Farms.

Roots Memphis Farm Academy group

Lauren Farr

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she says, wiping a bit of dirt off her nose. “I just always figured I’d run out of money trying to figure out how to do it.”

Farr is a student at Roots Memphis Farm Academy. It’s a two-and-a-half year program that will teach her how to run a sustainable, profitable food business — everything from germinating bok choy to stopping killer aphids. But what’s even more important, says Roots co-founder Mary Riddle, is learning to balance the books.

“You’ve got to pencil a profit before you can plow a profit,” she says. “You can’t change the world if you go out of business.”

The concept is simple enough. Take two things that Memphis has in spades: empty land and available workers. Put them together, add a few seeds and some fertilizer, and what do you get? Sustainable business development, food relief for America’s hungriest city, and — maybe best of all — some darn good veggies.

“I think the best part,” says 24-year-old Taylor Edwards, “is just being outside, you know? Getting your hands dirty. There’s no one hanging over you. You’re free.”

Students spend their first six months at Roots in the classroom, learning to keep records and make financial models for every crop they grow. It’s tough stuff, and only about half the recruits who start out ultimately make it through. But the knowledge is essential, says Riddle, because a poor grasp of economics is why so many small farms fail.

John Klyce Minervini

Wes and Mary Riddle

“On our first day of class,” Riddle says, “we tell them, you are an entrepreneur, and there is exactly zero separation between you and your business.

“If you want to buy a tractor in three years, you need to start working on your credit now. You need to know how much that tractor will depreciate every year.”

From the classroom, students graduate to Shelby Farms, where each is given a quarter-acre of land to farm. There they work together, sharing tools and insights, to grow food for the Roots CSA, a vegetable subscription service.

After two years, when they have demonstrated that they can run a successful business, these future farmers start working with Roots to secure access to start-up capital and land — in many cases, blighted inner-city lots. Then they’re off.

Roots has been around since August 2013, and it’s getting ready to graduate its first class of four farmers.

“Farming is hard work,” Riddle says. “When it’s 105 degrees out and the tomatoes are cracking, you still have to go out and pick them. Obviously, that’s not for everybody.”

A full ride at Roots costs $1,800. Roots is able to keep that number low because of income from its CSA, as well as a grant from an anonymous donor. They also offer financial aid on a sliding scale.

“We actually had one person pay us in $30 increments,” recalls Riddle. “That’s what she could afford, and we really wanted to work with her.”

What really got my attention was how young everybody is. In a nation where the average farmer is 57 years old, this is a group of fresh-faced 20-somethings. What gives?

“Over the last 10 years, there has been a movement of young people entering the field of farming. Which is great, because our farmers are aging, and we’ll still need to eat after they die,” Riddle says.

“I think everyone in our program has been driven to create a business that matters, a business that’s kind to the earth, a business that’s making a positive social impact. They are driven to fix a broken food system, and that’s a beautiful thing.”

Liam Boyd would agree with that. At 22, he’s one of the program’s success stories, growing huge bushels of bok choy, kale, and arugula for the Roots CSA. But for Boyd — who hails from North Memphis — learning to farm has a more personal significance.

“Where I’m from,” he says, “you’re either unemployed, working a dead-end job, or you’re doing something illegal. But I tell my friends, This is my hustle. I’m growing vegetables, and I’m making more money than all y’all.”

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Every man’s gotta cook his own steak.

CREDIT: John Klyce Minervini

When I arrive at Home Place Pastures, they’ve already started the butchery. On the table in front of me lies the steamship round: a 45-pound hunk of meat from below the hip joint on the steer’s hind leg. It’s big and primal, like something a caveman might eat, with a big, white femur bone that pokes out like a trailer hitch.

John Klyce Minervini

A hunk of fresh meat being cut from Home Place Pastures.

“That’s a pretty little roast right there,” says one of the men, poking at a bright-red seam of muscle with his wickedly sharp knife. “That’ll feed about 10 people.”

And I thought: What am I doing here?

Okay, back up. According to the USDA, Americans consume about 130 pounds of meat per person, per year. Interestingly, that’s down from a peak of 145 pounds in 2004. (Were we stressed about the Iraq War? Or maybe the final episode of Friends?)

Still, that’s a lot of meat — as of 2012, more than any other country. And the fact remains that most of us have no idea where it comes from. I mean, sure, we know there’s a cow at one end and a hamburger at the other. But what happens in between?

That’s what I set out to find. Because, first, I eat a lot of meat. As a food writer, it’s kind of an occupational hazard. But also, I eat meat when I’m not even really thinking about it. I order bacon with my eggs and ground beef on my nachos. It’s kind of a knee jerk. It’s something I need to work on.

In any case, I figured I owed it to the cows. You know? To actually look one in the eye and watch what happens, start to finish. I wasn’t exactly trying to scare myself into going veg — but, the idea wasn’t completely off the table.

John Klyce Minervini

Executive Chef Miles McMath

That’s how I ended up in a pickup truck with Miles McMath, bouncing down a gravel road in Hernando, Mississippi.

“You might wanna hold on,” says McMath, who in my opinion is driving faster than he needs to. “It’s gonna get a little bumpy.”

McMath is the executive chef at St. Jude. Seven years ago, he had the bright idea to start serving restaurant-quality, locally sourced food in a hospital cafeteria, and the whole thing took off. Recently, he was tapped by Southern Living as one of the 50 people who is changing the South in 2015.

He also happens to have a great hookup when it comes to local beef. McMath’s father-in-law keeps a herd of 30 Angus cattle on 60 acres in Hernando. When we drive up, we spot a mother and her newborn calf disappearing into the woods at the edge of the pasture.

“Check that out,” says McMath, pointing, “you can still see the blood on the ground where she gave birth.”

He’s right. The leaves are stained a dark red, and the calf — who hasn’t quite gotten the hang of walking — still has a bit of umbilical cord dangling between his legs.

Unfortunately, I never got to meet the steer we butchered. By the time I heard about him, he had already been hanging on a hook for two weeks. (“Dry-aged” meat is more flavorful and less messy to work with.)

John Klyce Minervini

To me, it doesn’t really make sense to say that an animal raised for slaughter is living a “natural” life. That said, these cows seem to have it pretty good. They get up when they want. They eat when they want. Although they are not given antibiotics or synthetic supplements, they do eat a bit of cornmeal for marbling.

“It’s like whisky,” says McMath “You can have a sip every now and then, and you’re not gonna get sick. But you can’t drink a whole fifth. It’s just not gonna work out.”

At the end of his life, our steer was given a bucket of feed. When he lowered his head to eat, McMath shot him between the eyes with a .243 caliber rifle. That may sound awful, but it’s actually calculated to be humane. Proponents say the cow loses consciousness before it can feel any pain.

Still, says McMath, it isn’t easy.

“With our kids,” he admits, absentmindedly patting a steer on the rump, “we got rules about which pigs and chickens you can give a name to. Once you start living with animals, it’s hard to say goodbye.”

John Klyce Minervini

Back at Home Place, they’ve nearly wrapped things up. A tidy pile of steaks — rib eye, porterhouse, the kinds of things you might actually find in a grocery store — sits on the table, ready to go. Although the process was a little overwhelming at first, I eventually found it fascinating, in a grim sort of way. The buzzing bandsaw. The enormous ribcage, like something from a dinosaur.

Now there’s just one thing left to do. Before I leave, McMath wraps a New York strip steak in butcher paper and hands it to me. He offers to cook it, but I say no. Because I know that if he does it, it’ll be perfect, and I don’t want it to be perfect.

I want to do this part myself.

Back home, I preheat a cast-iron skillet and rub my steak with kosher salt and cracked pepper. Then I throw it on the stove and let the magic happen. I nearly smoke out the kitchen — and believe it or not, that’s what you’re supposed to do. A very high surface temperature yields a yummy crust and a deep, rich flavor.

After about five minutes, I pull the steak and let it rest. I’ve heard a rumor that grass-fed beef is chewier than grain-fed, and that it has a sharp, astringent flavor. Fortunately, that turns out not to be true. My New York strip is delicate and buttery, as good as anything I’ve had in a restaurant.

I’ll say this: It was different. And not just because of the faint mineral notes I thought I detected in the meat. As I sat at my kitchen table, slowly slicing and chewing, I thought about the calf I’d seen in Hernando, the one who was learning to walk.

Why do we eat meat? Is it because we’ve always done it? How do we justify it — except to say that it tastes good, and we can? I’m not saying it’s wrong — I’m just saying it’s worth thinking about. In the end, every man’s gotta cook his own steak.

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Food & Drink Hungry Memphis

New Ginormous Growler Station at Joe’s Liquor

At Joe’s Wines & Liquors, they recently installed one of the baddest growler stations in town. Twenty beer taps plus 10 wine taps equals 30 new taps. It’s all nitro, which means the beer is colder, smoother, creamier. And if you wanna know what’s on tap, just glance up at one of three 42-inch flatscreens.

Manager Sisco Larson (pictured above) says he got the idea while on vacation in Atlanta.

“I was at Hop City,” remembers Larson, “which has this awesome growler station. And then up above, on the wall, they had this trippy terrapin mural. It’s like half Grateful Dead and half beer.”

That trip, he says, triggered his transformation from “chugging Bud Lite with my fraternity brothers to actually drinking good beer.” But when it came time to create his own growler station, Larson decided to differ from Hop City in one important way:

“They’ve got all these chalkboards above the beer taps,” says Larson, “but I thought, you know, it’s 2015. We don’t have to do chalkboards. We can do something that’s easier to read. We can keep the chalk away from your beer.”

[jump]

On a recent Tuesday night, Larson pulled a sample of the Ghost River Midnight Magic Lager ($15.99 for growler and growler fill). It was eminently drinkable, toasted and malty, with tiny nitro bubbles that crawled down the side of the glass. (Because Joe’s is a liquor store, they can serve you a sample but can’t sell you a pint.)

I was intrigued by the idea of wine on tap. Why not just do it the old fashioned way?

Turns out that with many more exclusive wines, you can get a keg when you can’t get a bottle.

“Take this Robert Turner Pinot Noir,” says Larson, gesturing to a tap. “He does maybe 500 cases per year, and we can’t get any of his bottled wine. It’s just not available in our region.”

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Rotis Cuisine of India opens; Napa Café gets a makeover.

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

You may have noticed the new sign at Napa Café. I mean, how could you not? Outsize and glowing-white, it’s practically visible from Walnut Grove.

Well, the sign’s just the tip of the iceberg. Beginning in July, Napa undertook a series of changes that run wide and deep through the heart of the restaurant. They include a new chef, a new menu, and an interior renovation that has yielded a totally new look.

For the past 17 years, Napa has anchored Sanderlin Centre, serving light, seasonal California-inspired fare. The wine list is just as important to Napa’s identity; it strives to introduce Memphians to exciting wine from around the world — while remaining affordable and unpretentious.

“When it comes to European wine,” says managing partner Rusty Prudhon, “people tend to think if they can’t pronounce it, they can’t afford it.

“We want to show them that delicious wine is within reach,” he adds. “We want our wine to spark a conversation.”

Those core concepts remain unchanged, but this new incarnation of Napa is more spacious and better executed, beginning with the bar. Cozy to some, the old bar struck others as claustrophobic and dark, closed in by a half-wall and ceiling drops.

By contrast, the new bar is wide open and well lit, with a rustic, reclaimed hickory bar top. It’s the first thing you see when you walk through the door, and it graciously divides the restaurant into two main dining rooms. There are also a small lounge and a farmer’s table, beautifully illuminated by track lighting.

Justin Fox Burks

Newly remodeled Napa Café

Maybe my favorite addition is the chef’s table. Tucked into its own, neatly appointed room at the back of the restaurant, this L-shaped, reclaimed cedar wood table seats six, perfect for intimate celebrations and wine pairings.

Since coming on in July, chef Ken Lumpkin has kept many of Napa’s greatest hits — don’t worry, the tomato soup with dill and basil ($8) isn’t going anywhere — while introducing a number of new dishes. Despite unpretentious labels, many are ambitious and demonstrate a welcome playfulness.

Justin Fox Burks

“Scallops”

Take the following dish, labeled simply “Scallops” ($28). It features three seared scallops served between chunks of charred mango (yum) and tiny oxtail dumplings. The whole thing is served with cumin-scented sweet potato puree and drizzled with umami broth.

“Say goodbye to marshmallows,” says owner Glenda Hastings. “That cumin in the sweet potato — that’s a game changer.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be supper at Napa without a stellar glass of wine. To pair with the scallops, Hastings recommends a bottle of 2013 Adelsheim Pinot Blanc ($40). This brisk, mineralic wine can stand up to the strong flavor of the oxtail, while playing nicely with the sweet potato and the mango.

Rotis Cuisine of India in Sanderlin Centre, opened in October to exactly zero fanfare, and the restaurant is seldom crowded. But I’m rooting for them, for one simple reason: The food is good. I have eaten there three or four times, and — what can I say? — the zesty appetizers and well-executed curries keep me coming back.

Not to mention, it is the only Indian restaurant in all of East Memphis.

For eight years before moving to Memphis, owner Madhu Ankisetty owned and managed Maharaja, a bustling Indian food restaurant in Oxford, Mississippi. He is from Hyderabad and demonstrates an easy fluency with the sharp, fresh flavors of North India — think coconut, cardamom, and tamarind. At Rotis, he prides himself on cooking every dish to order, as well as offering a wide range of vegan and gluten-free options.

I recommend starting with Paneer Pakora ($7.99). These semi-soft cubes of paneer cheese are battered with chickpeas and deep-fried, yielding a salty, crunchy crust and a warm, creamy filling. As if that weren’t enough, the fancy fried cheese is served with two dipping sauces. The tamarind is good, but the spicy mint is great.

Another don’t-miss-it dish is the Gobi Manchuria ($7.99), lightly fried cauliflower served in a sweet chili sauce. Besides being delicious (and vegan!), it showcases the way that Rotis tailors its spice levels to customer preference. “Medium” was just right for me.

From there, graduate to any of several curries, served family-style in handsome, stainless-steel bowls. In the event of an arctic blast, the butter chicken ($9.99), bathed in a silky tomato gravy, will warm you right up. But save room for the Channa Masala ($9.99), a fragrant and well-balanced dish of chickpeas, tomatoes, and onions.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Now open: Red Rocker and Belly Acres.

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

“Are you ready to rock?”

That’s the first thing they’ll ask you at Sammy Hagar’s Red Rocker Bar & Grill, the new sports bar inside Southland Park. Here, the servers aren’t servers; they’re rock stars. And you know what, friend? You’re a rock star, too.

The new restaurant was developed as part of a $38 million expansion at Southland that includes a new building, new additional parking, and 500 new slot machines. According to management, that brings the grand total to 1,950 — the most in the area.

As for Red Rocker, it is open, spacious and well-lit, with tall ceilings. Red is everywhere — an obvious nod to Hagar, aka the Red Rocker, who’s best known for his hit “I Can’t Drive 55.” There are 55 flat-screen TVs, too, including a screen at every booth.

“During football season,” says Southland marketing manager Marshall Robertson, “there’s days where you got 10 games going on at one time. And if you come here, you can watch every single one of them.”

When it comes to food, Red Rocker offers its own take on classic pub grub, including finger-licking barbecue nachos ($7.99) and a burger called the Three Meat Box ($11.99), which is slathered with a tasty sweet onion jam. I also enjoyed the meatloaf cupcake ($12.99), a savory treat with an “icing” of garlic mashed potatoes.

“Something we’ve always hung our hat on,” Robertson says, “is the fact that we’re a close, convenient option. If you live downtown, you can be here in 10 minutes. So why not give us a try and come stop in for lunch?”

Justin Fox Burks

Belly Acres

So far, press coverage of Belly Acres — the new farm-to-table burger joint in Overton Square — has tended to focus on the zany décor, which, admittedly, is hard to miss. There’s a bright-red tractor inside the front door and a big yellow crop duster hanging from the ceiling.

“We figure, instead of bringing the farm to your table,” says owner Ben McLean, “we’ll bring your table to the farm.”

But the real story here isn’t the family atmosphere — it’s the menu. As an example, let’s take the Early Riser, a bacon cheeseburger served with a fried egg between waffles. The beef is fresh, thick, and juicy, and for good reason: Nearly all of the ingredients come from within a day’s drive of Memphis.

The beef is grass-fed, from Joyce Farms in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The Bibb lettuce is from Tanimura & Antle Farm in Livingston, Tennessee. And the fried egg is sourced by Bring It Food Hub, right here in Memphis.

Here’s the kicker. The whole thing, including house-made chips and a drink, will run you $15 — the same price you’d pay at so-called premium fast-casual burger joints. Only at Belly Acres, the food is tastier, it’s local, and they’ll bring it to your table.

“We’re a place for families who want to feed their kids responsibly,” McLean says. “Or really, anybody who wants a really good, grass-fed burger.”

It’s an audacious plan, but if it works, you might soon be seeing a lot more of Belly Acres. Over the next five years, depending on the success of the Overton Square restaurant, McLean says he plans to open 15 more like it across the Southeast.