I love Memphis but the cab ride is cold, and I’m headed for a two-star hotel downtown, so I keep my fingers crossed. I’m back in town to do an exhibit at Graceland Mansion, another at Jay Etkin Gallery downtown, and a second Sirius Satellite Radio interview.

The lobby is low frills. It has the feel of an airport rental-car counter. A uniformed valet sleeps in an armchair near the door, pretending to read a magazine that now flops on his knee. Across the courtyard I notice a rib joint all glassed in with big windows all steamy and inviting looking. Is it just a mirage? The vision of a real Memphis Bar-b-que joint, right in the carport of my hotel really looks too good to be true.