Once upon a time, a group of college girls used to club hop in the late-night lands of Memphis. Sometimes the night would take them to Senses, then on Poplar Avenue; other nights they would end up covered in soap film from a foam party at Spectrum in the Edge District or shoulder to shoulder with strangers at house parties in South Memphis.

After one particularly raucous summer night, I remember a friend — her ankles wobbly wearing her Jessica Simpson platforms all night long — declare all good nights end at Waffle House. 

While we did end many good nights at Waffle House, as we got older, something better was waiting for us. The flashing neon fork at the corner of Beale and Second streets pointing the way to Blues City Cafe was like a bat signal for those of us in need of rescue by carbs.

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