Drive south in search of juke joints, Delta tamales, and where legend claims a blues giant sold his soul to the devil.
The Explorer’s Guide to Road Tripping Down Highway 61

The Four Way, so named for its corner location in South Memphis, has been a cornerstone of the community since opening in 1946. By the 1960s, the Four Way had become a gathering place for leaders of the Civil Rights Movement, Stax musicians on studio break, international visitors, and neighborhood locals.

Now, more than 75 years since opening its doors, this unassuming spot remains a beloved institution, still serving some of the best soul food in the city—arguably, in the entire South. Soul food is a loaded term, but the Four Way keeps to its traditional definition—Southern food originating from the cuisines of the African diaspora. Dishes like fried chicken, blackened catfish, braised collards, stewed neck bones, and earthen gumbos showcase its rich legacy.

Small and squat in a cinderblock square just off Lamar Ave. in midtown Memphis, Payne’s Bar-B-Q proves that a simple meal, made with care and attention (and a lot of hickory coals), can buffer itself against the tides of change and remain a neighborhood stalwart, frequented by locals and travelers alike for over 50 years.

These days, Ron Payne and his sister Candice run the pits at Payne’s, having taken over from their parents, Horton and Flora. Other than that, not much has changed. The menu here plays the classics. The pulled pork sandwich is a best-seller, but they’ve also become known for their “BBQ bologna”—a hulking slab warmed and smoked over hot coals, slathered in sauce, and laden with slaw, sandwiched between two slices of white bread. It’s a perfect combination—the sauce sweet and piquant over the smoked meat, and the mustard-based slaw tangy and aromatic. When things are this good, why change? You can perfect a lot of things in 50 years.

You aren’t meant to see the building during the day. It hides under old signs, a beaten brick building with a broken awning and wood panels against its door. A few old beer signs and a handwritten schedule almost give it away, but it isn’t until the sun goes down and the red string lights illuminate the facade that you can really see Red’s, the legendary juke joint in Clarksdale, Mississippi.

Inside, the space is intimate—a small room bathed in red neon signs and Christmas lights strung along the ceiling. The walls are a collage of old posters, memorabilia, and quotes from Cornilius Orlando “Red” Paden, the former owner who called himself the “king of the juke joint runners” and who passed away in late 2023. Red was a pillar of Clarksdale, a true keeper of the juke joint tradition who presided over this space from the early ’80s until the end of his life. And within these walls, his legacy lives on. There’s no stage at Red’s, just a large red carpet and some scattered instruments where the bands set up. Here, every seat is a front row seat.

When Roger Stolle moved to Clarksdale in 2002, he came with a mission: “To circle the wagons, to mount a defense, to help the last generation of cotton-farming, mule-driving, juke-joint playing bluesmen deeply inhale the final breath of this amazing tradition we call Delta blues.” To that end, he opened Cat Head—a record store, folk art museum, souvenir shop, and cultural hub in downtown Clarksdale.

The shop is covered in music and blues paraphernalia from floor to ceiling. Portraits, paintings, and folk-art dioramas line the old brick and plaster walls, and bins of CDs and LPs crowd the cramped aisles. Stolle’s passion for Clarksdale and its musical heritage is evident in all he does. Over the years, he has helped organize blues and juke joint festivals, earned numerous awards, and served on the boards of several nonprofit organizations. His website, featuring the most comprehensive and up-to-date live music guide for the area, is a lifeline for visitors seeking the best of Clarksdale’s nightlife.

The story goes that a young Robert Johnson, eager for greatness, sought a Faustian bargain at a crossroads. There he met the devil, who in exchange for Johnson’s soul imbued him with unparalleled mastery of the guitar. Over time, cultural tourism and convenience declared that crossroads to be the intersection of Highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale, Mississippi.

Also situated at this storied crossroads is Abe’s Bar-B-Q, open since 1924, though only at its current location since 1937 or 1950, depending on who you ask. Pat Davis Sr., the current owner, likes to say that Robert Johnson may have been sitting on a crate under a Sycamore tree eating some of their barbecue when he made his pact with the devil. Maybe or maybe not, but either way it’s a good story.

The pottery studio sits hidden in leafy foliage on a small side street in a small town just north of Cleveland. It’s unassuming and reserved, an oasis masked in plain sight. Inside, vases, serving plates, light fixtures, hanging baskets, and other items adorn every spare inch of space, alongside paintings by Mary Sims and Terra Hamblett, all a testament to artistic vision, to a life lived creating and collecting.

Lee McCarty and his wife Pup began studying pottery in the 1950s while in Oxford, Mississippi, finding their first bit of fortune in a clay-filled ravine at Rowan Oak, William Faulkner’s historic home. Soon afterwards, they moved back to Merigold, setting up shop in an aunt’s old mule barn. By the 1960s, they had made a name for themselves, and had shown their work in numerous galleries across the south. Today, the legacy of McCarty Pottery lives on. Visitors can still admire the original glazes developed by the couple, known as their three primaries: nutmeg, cobalt blue, and jade. Each piece also carries a signature flourish—a slender black line winding downward. It symbolizes the mighty Mississippi River, an enduring thread woven into the studio’s story.

The story goes that W.C. Handy, later known as the Father of the Blues, was under contract in Clarksdale and traveling through the Mississippi Delta when he encountered a mysterious man at the Tutwiler train station. In his autobiography, Handy writes: “His clothes were rags; his feet peeped out of his shoes. His face had on it some of the sadness of the ages. As he played, he pressed a knife on the strings of the guitar.... The effect was unforgettable.”

The man sang a single line, over and over—Goin’ where the Southern cross the Dog. The Southern Railroad once crossed the Yazoo Delta Railroad—colloquially called the Yellow Dog—in Moorhead, Mississippi. That crossing inspired the man’s strange refrain. Handy would go on to write “Yellow Dog Blues,” spreading the sound of the Delta from Memphis across the nation.

It’s strange to think about how things begin, how legends begin. A man at a train station meets another man. One of them becomes the father of a genre, while the other, unrecorded, unnamed, becomes a footnote to the greater story.

The steak arrives with a pleasing char, glistening under fat and minced garlic, a side of fries piled on the side. The tamales smell of warm earthen spice. The side salad is an afterthought.

Family run since its inception, Doe’s began as a grocery store at the turn of the 20th century. That changed after the devastating 1927 flood, when a levee break flooded Greenville and much of the surrounding Delta. Forced to adapt, the family turned briefly to bootlegging before selling their still and founding the restaurant in 1941 with just a few hundred dollars and half a tamale recipe.

In its early days, the restaurant served as a community hub with a dual identity. The front was a lively juke joint where tamales and blues music drew in the Black community, while in the back, Big Doe, the founder, prepared steaks for friends. As time went on, word of Doe’s steaks spread, and Nelson Street, once a vibrant cultural center, fell on hard times. The local club scene shuttered, and the steaks—along with a predominantly white clientele—took over.

The ceilings hang low and the silverware is thin and dinky, but when the steak arrives everything else falls away. They’re universally large and juicy and tender, pure form and function. A Platonic ideal, rendered in tallow.

In the Mississippi Delta, hot tamales are almost as iconic as the blues. They’ve grown up together, intertwined in the region’s culture. Tamales have appeared in songs since the 1920s, and their origins are the subject of much debate. Some believe Mexican laborers brought them to the Delta while working the cotton harvests in the early 20th century. Others trace them back even further, to soldiers returning from the Mexican-American War. Still others argue their history runs much deeper, rooted in the maize-growing traditions of Native American cultures.

Whatever their origins, tamales have become a Delta staple, evolving into the distinct form we know today. They’re typically smaller than their Mexican counterparts and made with cornmeal instead of masa. The pork is heavily seasoned and spiced, then wrapped in corn shucks and simmered (not steamed) on a stovetop or open fire. Traditionally served with Saltines, the tamales are soaked in their rich, spiced juices, which spill onto your plate.

This Vicksburg staple is a no-frills affair, and while the original shop had little more than tamales served in threes, these days there are burgers and hot dogs and a few other simple additions. But that’s not why people come to Solly’s. You come for tamales that adhere to a tradition, where the recipe hasn’t changed since 1939, where you can taste a piece of history, one greasy, spiced bite at a time.

Twenty years ago, the Tomato Place really was just a vegetable stand. Or rather a collection of vegetable stands around Vicksburg. The founding family would often eat tomato sandwiches for lunch while selling their produce. Time and again, customers would ask for a sandwich. After eating it, they would usually ask for another. So, rather than go broke giving away their food, the Tomato Place was born.

And while they still pay homage to the simple pleasures of sliced tomatoes slathered in mayo on toasted white bread—the humble foot soldier of Southern summertime lunches—their menu has grown to include so much more, including po’boys, dinner plates, hamburgers, and salads, plus an entire section devoted to tomato sandwiches and BLTs.

Inside, there’s local produce for sale, along with pies and pound cakes drizzled in fresh cream, preserves, pickles, bags of pecans, and more. Throughout the afternoon, regulars come in to stock up on supplies and travelers stop to grab lunch or a quick snack to take away. Like so much of the South, it’s warm and familiar here amid the chaos. It feels like you’ve stumbled upon something timeless, generous, and giving.

Located in the heart of downtown Natchez, with a view to the Mississippi River from its outdoor patio, Smoot’s Grocery started out life as an actual grocery store in 1939. After a history of closures and ownership changes, Smoot’s has reinvented itself as one of the few venues breathing life back into Natchez’s live music scene

The lounge’s exterior preserves much of its original charm, with a tin roof and weathered wooden façade, while inside, a striking mural by Clarksdale artist Doug Kosmo spans the walls and ceiling. The mural chronicles the history of blues music, interwoven with folk art symbols and religious motifs. From Wednesday through Saturday, Smoot’s offers an eclectic mix of live music, ranging from blues and jazz to rock and country. The week starts with intimate acoustic sets, with high-energy full-band performances on the weekends.

“I never stepped foot on the same side of the fence as a water buffalo until I owned one,” says Sarah Roland, the owner of a water buffalo farm, a pastoral stretch of fields and farmlands just off Highway 61, in northern Louisiana. “They’re great for this environment. They don’t get hoof rot. They love water. And they’re self-sufficient. They don’t really need a human.”

Their milk also makes incredible cheese, which Roland sells through private buying clubs and memberships programs. Recently, one of her new cheeses, crafted in collaboration with Guatemalan cheesemaker Mercedes Moreno, took first prize in a local competition. Roland views her farm as one living organism, the health of which is “dependent upon the health of the soil, the quality of life of our animals, and every component in between.”

Beyond the buffalo, the farm teems with life. Roland collects her own honey from several hives, cares for over 350 blueberry bushes, and tends to nearly 70 fruit trees on her property. There are also chickens and a brand-new dairy cow named Susie Q. Roland has diversified her efforts, hosting private farm-to-table dinners and tours where visitors can meet the buffalo, explore the grounds, and leave with a deeper appreciation for the artistry of agriculture. The farm is not always open to visitors, so be sure to drop Roland an email in advance.

Henry Turner Jr’s Listening Room is flanked by a convenience store and a plumbing company in the Easy Town neighborhood of Baton Rouge, the sign painted on the door appearing like an afterthought. It doesn’t feel like you’re meant to find the Listening Room. It’s like a well-kept secret, a throwback to the clubs of old, where music and community reigned.

Inside, the atmosphere is intimate, almost reverent. The Listening Room isn’t about spectacle; it’s about the music, the stories, and the people. It’s easy to see the blues here as a relic, something to be preserved in a place like this, where time feels suspended. But Turner challenges that notion.

“The blues can’t be sacrificed for other music to survive,” he says. “It’s too interwoven into the culture. Younger musicians will just reinterpret it. That’s the evolution of music.”

With its location in an unassuming building on a major thoroughfare, Elsie’s looks like an old-school diner and is easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. But turn the corner into their parking lot and you’re met with a bright pie-themed mural and an inviting entrance into their warm, modern-industrial dining room.

The fare is classic Southern: boudin melts, fried okra, pimento dip, and red beans and rice with fried chicken. And then there are the pies. The savory selection includes a crawfish hand pie, a Natchitoches meat pie, and their Louisiana poulet pot pie, filled with smoked chicken and peppers in a creamy tasso gravy.

The salt levels are just a bit high, and butter, cream, and other fats are used generously. Pork finds its way into most things. The portions are generous, but let’s face it, you’re not here for a modest meal. Elsie’s sweet pies also shine, including a chocolate pecan, a slight twist on a classic, and other staples like their s’mores, turtle, apple, and coconut cream pies.

More than 40 years ago, Vera Warren-Williams, known affectionately as Mama Vera, got her start selling books out of her car. She was 24 years old at the time and working as a substitute teacher. After growing up in the 9th ward, she was well aware of the lack of reading materials celebrating Black authors and intellectuals in the public schools. She decided to take matters into her own hands, going from school to school with a trunk full of literature.

By 1988, she was able to open her first brick-and-mortar bookstore at 1200 Ursulines in Treme. In 2003, she purchased the building for her current location in the heart of Bayou Road, one of New Orleans’ oldest paved streets and a thriving hub for small businesses, many of them Black-owned. The tradition of exchange and community endures, alive and well in every storefront.

A mural on the side of her building depicts a hand descending from the sky, offering a book to a young boy, with the word Ujamaa inscribed on its spine. It’s a collaboration between two New Orleans-based artists, Brandan “BMike” Odums and READ MORE BOOKS.

Sitting snug in a mid-city neighborhood just off Tulane Ave. and Carrollton, near the southern terminus of Highway 61, Lisa Nelson, better known as Queen Trini Lisa, is dishing out some of the best Caribbean food in New Orleans. Just a few years ago, Nelson was running a small corner store in the Ninth Ward, serving po’boys, fried chicken, and simple plate lunches. In the backroom, she would cook food from her home country of Trinidad and Tobago for her children. Soon, her customers began asking to buy her children’s food.

“It was weird and I thought, this is nothing special,” Nelson says with a laugh. So she started selling curries and jerk chicken a few days a week. After leaving the corner store, Nelson did pop-ups around the city, garnering a name for herself amid a burgeoning interest in the foods that created what we now know as classic New Orleans cuisine—the Caribbean and African influences ignored by chefs and diners alike for so long.

Nelson’s name is now mentioned alongside other local luminaries like Nina Compton and chef Serigne Mbaye, making her part of an important conversation happening around New Orleans cuisines and its deep roots around the world. Now, at her own space in mid-city, she can usually be found in the kitchen, surrounded by rising dough, simmering curries, chopped cabbage, steaming rice, and several family members.

The Dew Drop Inn began as a humble barbershop, with founder Frank G. Painia selling refreshments to neighbors in the newly developed Magnolia Housing Projects. By 1939, the Dew Drop Inn had officially opened its doors, and in a post-war era of segregation and Jim Crow laws in the South, the venue—with its open-door policy, welcoming everyone—became a social, civic, and entertainment hub for New Orleans residents.

The Dew Drop was a haven for Black musicians touring through New Orleans, hosting many who would go on to become household names, like Ray Charles and Little Richard. It also put on variety shows, comedy nights, and drag performances until the venue closed its doors in 1970. The hotel hung on until Hurricane Katrina hit the city in 2005, after which it sat vacant, a hobbled titan, for nearly two decades.

Here in the present day, a newly renovated and reopened Dew Drop Inn stands triumphant, a living piece of history, carrying its legacy on its shoulders. The venue hasn’t missed a beat, with local and touring musicians gracing the stage every week, as well as comedy nights, jam sessions, DJ sets, drag shows, tribute nights, and more.

The history of Vietnamese cuisine in New Orleans is deeply tied to the migration of refugees after the Vietnam War, when many families, taken with the climate and geography of the South, settled in Louisiana. Over time, Vietnamese cuisine became an essential part of New Orleans food culture, with its emphasis on fresh herbs and bright flavors complimenting the city’s existing French, African, and Creole influences.

These days, restaurants like Dough Nguyener’s are rightly celebrated as integral parts of the city’s food scene. Owner Betty Archote (née Nguyen) and her family are veterans of the local restaurant scene, bringing a fresh take on Vietnamese heritage to Dough Nguyener’s. Their menu offers lesser-known gems like xôi gà (sticky rice with chicken), bánh mì chả lụa (baguette with traditional sausage), and cà phê trứng (Hanoi-style egg coffee), alongside popular favorites such as phở and bún bò Huế.

The cà phê sữa đá (Vietnamese coffee) doughnut steals the show—a clever, delicious nod to fusion cuisine. It’s a delightful year-round treat and a worthy stand-in for their similarly flavored king cake, available exclusively during Mardi Gras. Either way, it’s something to savor—and something to look forward to.