photo BBuck, MemphisTravel.com*

"Whatcha do this weekend?"

"Went to R-KAN-SAW."

"Whatcha do there?"

"Made a U-turn."

After I dropping off Grace with her father at the Tennessee/Alabama border, Husband 2.0 and I roadtripped via scenic highways to the land of Elvis, bar-b-que and Blues.

Arriving road fatiqued, we lodged in the generic suburban Cordova, home to every restaurant chain, two Targets and cookie cutter hotels. We checked the rates of a ghastly Fairfield, a Best Western and lucked up on a sophisticated Holiday Inn. Yes, you read that correctly. Turns out Memphis not only birthed the the King,  but also delivered the ubiquitous hotel chain. Only, this particular hotel was owned by the grandchildren of Holiday Inn's founder. A black-and-white photo exhibition captured the beginning of the chain and franchise, showing the grandchildren from toddler days to their current owner status. The rates were competitive with the surrounding generic chains, but we got so much more. A larger and handsomely decorated room, uber comfy beds and service that jumped when we called for extra wash cloths, an extended stay and quieting of the 2 a.m. drunk banging the door down the hall.

After emphatic groans from the locals we met about town, Husband 2.0, made an executive decision (unbeknownst to me until Saturday night,) to forgo the "tourist trap" of Beale Street. I'd of been game, but instead we got lucky again per chance recommendation of a "hip" neighborhood with great local restaurants and maneuvered our way through the pretty park-like (and then not-so-pretty) parts of Memphis to the intersection of Cooper and Young and the eponomously named historic district.

Everything we wanted was there. Au Fond Farmtable for Saturday brunch. Dining Euro-style about a long table, we I shared a salad and a meat and cheese platter. Around the corner, a truly old-style coffee house (well-worn sofa, used magazine stash and hodge podge furniture and an extremely eclectic patrons,) Java Cabana provided our homebase for most of the afternoon's remains. Outside, vintage metal chairs, perfectly warmed by the sun, provided perch for a peruse of local reads. An angel (this was Halloween weekend) seduced us into her "Metaphisicare Studio" for a free 10-minute "energy healing." Next door the fun sister/owners of Loudean's, purveyed Flax brand clothing, intriguing hand-made artisan jewelry and other wares, plus a heaping of southern hospitality that kept Husband 2.0 happy while I selected take-home wares.

During the last remaining hour of the afternoon, we made a mad dash to the banks of the Great Mississippi (hence our mistaken detour over the river into Arkansas). After a scenic bird-watching U-turn, (of course,) we made it to our destination of the National Museum of Ornamental Metal, the only one of its kind. (There's a backstory I'll share later.) The kind curators there brought up a special knife that we'd seen in  Edible Memphis. Husband 2.0 talked to the blacksmith in residence and I purchased a couple of reasonably priced pieces of metal-smithed jewelry by French Canadian artist Christophe Poly.

For dinner we returned to Cooper-Young Historic District for fusion sushi, lime and edamae and vegetarian curried noodle soup to die for at Noodle Doodle Do. Again, this was Halloween so a bat was our server and The Unabomber our expertly trained sommelier.

We capped our weekend with Sunday brunch at The Beauty Shop, also in the little hood with big character. Next door to the previous night's venue and owned by the same woman, this fun venue and its'  restaurant cousins have garnered press in Food and Wine, Gourmet and Bon Appetit. The Memphis trilogy of dining establishments includes Mollie Fontaine Lounge, and, apparently, once upon a time included a fourth restaurant named Slim, plus a New York City incarnation. (At least this is what this reporter without a pad gathered while glancing at the framed press clipping gallery while waiting for the loo.) Like Fido in Nashville, The Beauty Shop retained the name and charm of it's original occupant. Restaurant patrons at the later sat at tables backed by raised old-fashioned hair dryer hoods. We'd glanced at the creative menu the night before, convinced that our patronage was mandatory. While we weren't as enthusiastic about our food as the sister eats next door, I did sip the most perfect mimosa ever.

Thank you Memphis for reminding us of your southern step-sister charm. (Sorry. I've adopted the Nashvillian tude living back here 17 years now.) We ventured to Memphis a little wary….Honest-to-gawd, I left my computer at home for fear it'd be stolen from my room or my car trunk because two weekends earlier, we'd met a Memphian at Seaside who'd shared the city's latest designation as among the nation's highest murder rates. Lovely.

Yet, we arrived back in Nashville alive and refreshed, glad we had visited there and our hats are off to Cooper-Young for a perfect little get-away weekend.

*While the frozen rush of light captures a flurry of activity, we found Cooper-Young extremely quiet and laid back. The facade on the tressel let us know that this was some place special. We oohed and awed when we exited the district Saturday night, seeing the buildings lit.