Everybody I know who is familiar with Memphis says that you’ve got to try the barbecue. You’ll love the barbecue! And I’m sure that’s true—if you like barbecue. But as far as I’m concerned: Meh. I can take it or leave it. Usually I leave it. To me, barbecue means gnawing on bones for a shred of meat, which in my opinion turns a meal into an unappetizing chore. I prefer my food without the messy anatomy lesson, thank you very much.

But while a plate of ribs leaves me cold, I can get very excited about a good hamburger, which is why on a recent trip to Memphis I was looking forward to lunch at Huey’s, a local institution known for its “Blues, Brews and Burgers since 1970.” I had read a brief mention about Huey’s on this site in a post about spending a single day in Memphis.

Because I was staying downtown, I went to the Huey’s on 2nd Street across from the Peabody Memphis, the landmark hotel known for its resident ducks that march through its lobby twice daily. Huey’s has several other locations in the Memphis area, but this one is only a couple blocks from Beale Street, which I imagine makes it the most popular one with tourists.

I stepped in under the green awning and waited for further instructions—not noticing the large “Please Seat Yourself” sign—until one of the servers called out, “Sit anywhere you like.” I found a table and sat, and only then noticed the sign. Doh!  I felt less foolish a few seconds later when I heard “Sit anywhere you like, folks!” aimed at a 50-something couple who had come in behind me. This refrain rang out several more times as people entered, stood before the “Please Seat Yourself” sign and froze.

What would cause such mental paralysis, you ask? To put it simply: sensory overload. Huey’s interior resembles something between a vandalized Bennigan’s and the attic of a person suffering from a pathological hoarding problem. What little wall space is not covered with framed news articles, 20-year-old posters for music festivals, witty bumper stickers and neon signs advertising beer brands has been defaced (I assume with the owner’s blessing) with layers upon layers of graffiti.

Inexplicably there’s a fiberglass shark wearing a life preserver gaping toothily above one end of the restaurant and multi-colored Christmas lights festooned along the room’s edges. Whether you call the ambience festive or trashy is up to you, but either way you can see why a first-time diner could be forgiven for not noticing a “Please Seat Yourself” sign, even a prominent one, while being visually assaulted like this.

And strangest of all was the ceiling, which I immediately saw was bristling with hundreds of the frilled toothpicks used to hold sandwiches together. How did they get up there? I remember kids in elementary school (never me, of course) throwing sharpened pencils into the ceiling of our classroom, but that wouldn’t work with a toothpick, would it?

Fortunately a woman seated near me asked her server about them, and he explained that you place the frill pick from your sandwich in a drinking straw and blow it out as hard as you can. She and her husband tried it a few times, but without success. Apparently it’s harder than it looks. Not exactly the most hygienic idea, having scores of other people’s used toothpicks suspended above you, but it’s interesting. I wanted to try it as soon as I got my meal.

So about the food. I ordered the “World Famous Huey Burger,” served with cheddar or Swiss cheese (I chose Swiss) and their signature onion rings. I have no way of verifying that the burger is “World Famous” but I quickly decided it deserved to be. Wow! As I savored that first bite, which virtually melted in my mouth, I thought, “Now I remember why I’m not a vegetarian.” It was without a doubt one of the best hamburgers I’ve tasted—a greasy, decadent carnivore’s delight.

I had wondered if the classic rock playing on the sound system needed to be quite so loud, but obviously the volume had been turned up to drown out the appreciative grunts and slurps of folks eating the Huey Burger.

Accompanying my sandwich were four onion rings, which might sound skimpy but they were huge, clearly made from some sort of giant, mutant onion, probably grown near a leaky nuclear power plant. I was sure I couldn’t possibly finish it, but I managed. I’ll admit I even looked around the basket my meal came in hoping for a salvageable morsel that had escaped onto the table. Alas, there were none. What a treat!

I’ll also admit that when it came time to test my blow dart skills I chickened out. Eating alone, I was too self-conscious to try it, which is probably a good thing because my mouth was still watering from my yummy burger and onion rings, and the results would probably not have been pretty.