Dietary Slumming With Tammy: Memphis Jo-Jos

Hey ya’ll. It’s Tammy again.

from photosofcutebabies

I just went to Memphis with my friends Captain Anna and El Guapo. See, they know how much I love Elvis. Also, I have a lot of time on my hands, with that little unemployment issue I’m still wrasseling with.

I think the highlight of the trip for me was Graceland. I have ALWAYS wanted to go to Graceland, the place where Elvis was so happy. I love Elvis.

from the60sofficialsite

I met Elvis once as a kid. I was with a group of my friends standing outside a theater waiting to go in when Elvis just walked up to us and started talking. I passed out, and when I came to laying there on the cold sidewalk one of my friends was fanning me with his autograph. They were all jumping up and down, and screaming and laughing. Everyone of them had an autograph and one of them had a signed picture. Not me. I had a lump on my head from where I hit the ground.

from babblecopy

Anyways, as we toured that beautiful mansion, I realized how much Elvis and I have in common. He has carpeting in his kitchen, and I have always wanted carpeting in my kitchen. It just seems so luxurious. 

Elvis Kitchen

(You probably saw all these Graceland pictures in Captain Anna’s posts. I didn’t take my camera inside because I wanted to truly experience the house. Plus I know that she’s a picture-taking fiend, and I really can’t compete with that.)

He also had a lot of shag carpeting, which I love. Shag carpeting is so classy, it just transcends trends.

Shag in The Jungle Room

Not in the kitchen though. That would be unsanitary.

Also, Elvis had a lot of bright colors in his house. I’m a fool for bright colors. Especially yella.

TV room

One thing that aggravated me about the Graceland tour was that we were not allowed upstairs. I was pissed. They know good and well everyone wants to see the bed that Elvis slept in. I’ve wondered my whole life what kind of sheets The King laid down on each night. I bet they were satin.

from bitchlifestyle

The worst part of not being able to go upstairs is that we  didn’t see the bathroom. Be honest ya’ll. Don’t you wonder what kind of tub The King sat in? Plus I really wanted to see the toilet. I mean, I’m not into nothing kinky or nothing. … Well, not that kinky. But I really wanted to see where Elvis went on to his Heavenly reward. His last few moments on this Earth were probably porcelain cold and lonely and I just wish I could have been right by his side to comfort him.

from myheritage

I think the part that moved me the most was Elvis’s grave. You know he’s buried right in his backyard? I found that out right before we went on this trip, and I am so glad I did because that allowed me to prepare for seeing his grave.

I tried to take flowers to his grave, and would you believe that those mother fuckers wouldn’t let me put them on his grave? They said that all offerings had to be screened. Screened! As if I would defile The King’s grave with anything besides blossoms. So I put the flowers by a statue of Elvis outside one of the souvenir shops in the Elvis strip mall.

from quotationsbooks

Since I couldn’t put flowers on his grave, my tears were my memento. I think the other visitors may have gotten impatient since there wasn’t enough room for my prostrate body and the flow of traffic but hell, you only visit Elvis’s grave once and I was finally letting myself grieve.

from kathysheartandseol

Graceland wasn’t the only memorable place we went in Memphis. Captain Anna and El Guapo were really excited about eating at a fancy-schmancy restaurant downtown, and they came back raving about the soups they ate. I didn’t have none of that soup, but I’m positive that the soup ain’t got nuthin’ on this fried chicken I ran up on at the gas station down the street from where we were staying.

from newsherald

I know good chicken. In my neighborhood growing up we had the nations of Bloods, Crips, Islam, The Hells Angels, and a few Baptists. The Baptists were the worst. But my point is, I grew up in what some might call The Hood. And one thing I learned is that if a gas station has more signs talking about their chicken than their gas, you better eat that chicken because it’s gonna be damn good. This place didn’t even have a sign saying how much the gas cost, but I could see from the other side of Elvis Presley Blvd that a two piece and a roll was $5.

from gadling

And you best believe this gas station chicken was some of THE finest.

gas station chicken

I got the meal, and it came with a drink, a roll, and something amazing called a Jo-Jo. A Jo-Jo is a large potato wedge, battered and deep fried, and let me tell you–Jo-Jos is the shit. They must have gotten some of them genetically modified potatoes I’ve been hearing about. I’ve been dying to try some genetically modified vegetables. I hear they make the vegetables grow bigger than adding a little extra Miracle-Gro to the water. That potato wedge was long enough to make some women blush. It just made me hungry.


I don’t even have to say, that meal was the shit.



The drink was also pretty special. Not the beverage itself. To be honest the Cherry Coke I had tasted a little watered down. I bet they have more soda than syrup in their mixture to save a few extra pennies. Normally I’d call out a place that’s doing that but I let Dodge’s slide because they had some pretty cool cups. The cup has a Fun Meter.

fun meter

Now when my cup was full, according to that little meter I was sitting on a beach with three guys in orange Speedos and freshly waxed backs fanning me. But truth be told with all that extra soda in the mix all that little meter was doing was predicting how much I was going to burp and run the little Speedos off.

from truthreethings

That’s ok though. I had a plan from the moment I saw that cup. I knew when I hit Beale Street that night my fun meter was going to be showing me how much Margarita I was away from getting me a blues singer, hopefully with a harmonica and a bad case of the “my woman done left me’s”. I went back to my hotel room where I had a bottle of El Toro and a some Jose Cuervo margarita mix (I’ve learned the secret to a good margarita is not to skimp on the mix) and a few minutes later this girl was ready to strut all this stuff down Beale Street!

from ejsisme

Once I got back from Beale Street after having all those Margaritas and not finding my blues man, I wished I’d had more Jo-Jos to suck up all that alcohol. I decided right then and there when I got home I was going to learn how to make a Jo-Jo just in case this ever happened again.

from addictionblog

And if you got any sense, you’ll learn how to make them too. Cause I know how some of ya’ll drink.

You don’t have to do any leg work, though. I did it all for you.

Get a potato. Or two, depending on how much fun you plan on having.


Cut it into 6 wedges. 6 is important. 4 is too chunky, 8 is too weeny.

6 wedges

Take a wedge, drag it through some buttermilk.

in buttermilk

Then drag it through a flour-cornmeal mixture.


buttermilky tater in the mixture

While all that’s happening, you should be heating up a pan of oil. When the oil is sparking hot, drop the potato wedges in there. They aren’t technically Jo-Jos until they’re fried real good.

first one frying

Keep an eye on them. You sure don’t want burnt Jo-Jos. Flip them when they become golden brown. Do the same for the other side, then gently remove from the pan. Gently, because you don’t want to mess up that nice crust. I suppose you could drain the potatoes and sop up some of that oil, but I figure why? It’s tasty and makes the tater taste that much better.

Pile them up on a plate and dive in.


suck that, martha.

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Categories: Dietary Slumming With Tammy, Food & Drink


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One Comment on “Dietary Slumming With Tammy: Memphis Jo-Jos”

  1. Earth Momma
    September 26, 2012 at 10:25 am #

    I giggled. You know i love me some potatoes and the “F” word….

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