Eating at Memphis again took some encouragement.
The only thing crazier than writing three pieces about the same horrible restaurant, as I've done with Memphis, would be eating there again, which I'm doing on Friday. I hope my enormous fan base appreciates the punishment I endure for the entertainment of others. Drug addicts and compulsive gamblers might feel terrible on the come-down, but at least they get to enjoy their highs. I am miserable when I indulge my vice--enduring snotty attitude and dismal food in order to write about it--and can only eek out my modest endorphin kick by excoriating the offenders afterwards.

I should point out that: A) I am going to Memphis as someone's guest, and B) my friend who lives in the building next door to the restaurant is having a party afterwards. Thus, for convenience's sake (and to torture me), dinner at Memphis makes sense. The truth is, I've got little else to say about Memphis. I emptied the tank on my earlier posts. At this point, eating there is for sheer entertainment value. I'll tell you about it anyway...