"Rustic Steakhouse Offers Feast for the Eyes, Food Challenge for Carnivores," a dining/lumber column by Commercial Appeal scribe Tom Bailey, reads like it was shot through Google Translate a couple of times at least.
"The nearly open Marshall Steakhouse lords over I-22 just west of Holly Springs, promising a Mid-South dining experience like none other," it begins. Then Bailey introduces owner Randall Swaney, a billboard executive who liked steakhouses so much he built one. According to the CA, "He hopes to open on July 14 his restaurant that has the outdoor influences of Loflin Yard or Railgarten and an indoor atmosphere that is part hunting lodge, part Peabody lobby." Best passage: "Interstate travelers likely won't be impressed by their backside view of the two-story, metal building, perched on Swaney's six-acre strand between I-22 and Old Highway 178. But those who take Exit 26, swing around to Old Highway 178, and step onto the wood front porch — enlivened with a monumental, carved-wood, hand-painted sculpture of a Native American chief — enter new territory."
"Butthole" was on every American's tongue last week, and the international incident, now known to everybody with an internet connection as #buttholegate, was Memphis' fault.
Here's what happened according to the prudes at The Washington Post (Yes, The Washington Post): "A woman named Chelsea Bartley left a two-star Google review of the Imagine Vegan Cafe, saying that even though she 'eat[s] here all the time' and 'still probably will bc ... there are few options,' was disturbed by a recent incident in which the restaurant owner's 'bare butt naked baby was running around, stood up on a table with its black theyre [sic] so dirty feet, and bent over to show me it's b——-.' "This is a family newspaper," the reporter noted parenthetically, explaining the censored "utthole."