You can smell it before you see it. That's the first thing people notice when they pull up to the corner of Mississippi Boulevard and Walker Avenue. It’s the scent of turnip greens simmered for hours and fried chicken that actually tastes like chicken, not just breading. The Four Way isn't just a restaurant. It’s a landmark. Honestly, in a city like Memphis where food is basically a religion, this place is the high cathedral of the meat-and-three.
It opened back in 1946. Bill and Irene Bates started it at a time when the neighborhood, South Memphis, was the beating heart of African American commerce and culture. Back then, if you were Black and traveling through the South, you couldn't just walk into any diner. You needed a safe haven. The Four Way was that and more. It was a white-tablecloth establishment in its early days, a place where dignity was served alongside the cornbread.
The Table Where History Sat Down
People talk about "historic" places all the time, but The Four Way actually has the receipts. Think about the 1960s. Memphis was a powder keg. While the rest of the world was struggling with integration, Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was sitting in a booth here eating fried catfish. He loved the peach cobbler. That’s not a legend; it’s a documented fact.
Imagine the conversations happening over those plates. Civil rights leaders like Reverend Ralph Abernathy and local icons like Jesse Turner met here to plot the future of the movement. They weren't just eating; they were organizing. It’s wild to think that the strategy for marches that changed American law was probably whispered over a bowl of black-eyed peas.
But it wasn't just the political heavyweights. The Stax Records crew—the folks who literally invented the Memphis Sound—were regulars. Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes, and Rufus Thomas would walk over from the studio. You’d have a world-famous soul singer at one table and a local bricklayer at the next. That’s the magic. It leveled the playing field. Everyone’s equal when they’re trying to figure out if they want the yams or the mac and cheese.
What You’re Actually Eating (And Why It’s Better)
Let’s get into the food. It’s soul food, obviously. But "soul food" is a term that gets thrown around too loosely these days. At The Four Way, it means something specific. It means a commitment to recipes that haven't changed since the Truman administration.
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The fried chicken is the undisputed king here. It’s not that "extra crispy" double-battered stuff you get at fast-food joints. It’s seasoned simply, fried until the skin is thin and crackling, and the meat stays moist. Then there’s the turkey and dressing. Usually, that’s a Thanksgiving-only affair, right? Not here. They serve it every day. It’s savory, dense, and topped with a giblet gravy that’ll make you want to call your grandmother and apologize for not visiting more often.
The Sides Are Not Optional
If you go to The Four Way and only eat the meat, you’ve failed. You need the greens. They use turnip greens, cooked down with smoked meat until they’re tender but not mushy. And the "pot liquor"—that salty, savory liquid at the bottom of the bowl—is basically liquid gold. You use the hot cornbread to soak it up.
- The Fried Catfish: Cornmeal-crusted, piping hot, and served with tangy tartar sauce.
- The Salmon Patties: A nostalgic staple that most restaurants are too "fancy" to serve now, but The Four Way nails it.
- The Cabbage: Slow-cooked and seasoned perfectly; it’s a sleeper hit on the menu.
- The Desserts: If you leave without a slice of sweet potato pie or the peach cobbler, you’ve done it wrong.
A Legacy Passed Through Families
The Bates family ran the show for decades until Willie Earl Bates passed away. There was a moment of real fear in Memphis. People worried the doors would close forever. In a city where gentrification often wipes out the "old school," the loss of The Four Way would have been a tragedy.
Enter the McNary family. Willie McNary was a long-time customer and friend of the Bates family. He bought the restaurant in 2002 because he knew Memphis couldn't afford to lose its soul. Today, his daughter, Patrice Bates McNary, keeps the engine running. It’s rare to see a hand-off like that work so well. Usually, when new owners take over a classic, they try to "modernize" it. They add avocado toast or something weird. The McNarys didn't do that. They kept the recipes. They kept the vibe. They just made sure the lights stayed on.
Why the Location Matters
The Four Way sits in the LeMoyne-Owen College area. It’s a neighborhood that has seen some incredibly tough times. Economic shifts, urban decay, the whole nine yards. Yet, the restaurant stands there as an anchor. When you walk in, you see photos on the walls of everyone from Elvis to modern-day politicians.
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It’s a "third place." In sociology, a third place is somewhere that isn't home and isn't work, but a community hub. The Four Way is the ultimate third place. You’ll see old-timers who have been coming for fifty years sitting near college students from LeMoyne-Owen. It’s a cross-section of the city that you don't really see anywhere else.
Addressing the "Wait Time" Myth
If you read reviews online, some people complain about the wait. Here’s the reality: this isn't fast food. It’s "slow food" served as fast as humanly possible. The kitchen is small. The demand is huge. If you show up at noon on a Sunday after church lets out, yeah, you’re going to wait. But that’s part of the experience. You stand on the sidewalk, you talk to people, you catch the vibe. Honestly, the wait is just proof that the food is actually being cooked, not just scooped out of a warming tray.
Navigating the Menu Like a Pro
If it’s your first time, don't overthink it. Most people go for the Daily Special. It’s the most efficient way to eat.
Monday might be smothered pork chops. Tuesday could be baked chicken. But the turkey and dressing is the soul of the place. Pro tip: ask for extra gravy on the dressing. Also, the cornbread is the "hoecake" style—flat, fried, and slightly crispy on the edges. It’s superior to the cake-like muffins you find elsewhere.
Don't be afraid of the vegetables. In the South, vegetables are often a meal in themselves. A "vegetable plate" at The Four Way (picking four sides) is a legitimate power move. Get the yams, the greens, the black-eyed peas, and the mac and cheese. You won't miss the meat.
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The Cultural Impact in 2026
We live in a world of chains. Every exit on the highway looks the same. The Four Way is the antidote to that. It’s one of the few places left that feels entirely authentic to its city. It’s been featured on the Food Network, in the New York Times, and in countless documentaries about the Civil Rights Movement.
But it doesn't feel like a museum. It feels alive. The floorboards creak, the kitchen is loud, and the smell of frying grease is permanent. That’s what makes it great. It’s a living, breathing piece of Memphis history that happens to serve a killer plate of food.
Actionable Steps for Your Visit
To get the most out of your trip to The Four Way, you need a game plan. Don't just wing it.
- Check the Daily Specials: They rotate. If you have your heart set on the smothered liver or the meatloaf, call ahead or check their social media to see what day it’s featured.
- Timing is Everything: Go at 11:00 AM if you want to beat the rush. If you go after 1:00 PM, be prepared to wait or find that some popular items (like the peach cobbler) might be sold out.
- Bring Your Appetite: The portions are generous. This isn't small-plate dining. You’re going to get a lot of food for your money.
- Explore the Area: Since you're right there, take a five-minute drive over to the Stax Museum of American Soul Music. Seeing where the music was made after eating where the musicians ate is the ultimate Memphis afternoon.
- Parking: It’s street parking mostly. Be mindful of the neighborhood and follow the signs.
- Respect the Vibe: It’s a family-oriented, community-focused spot. Be patient with the staff; they are working hard to maintain a legacy.
The Four Way is more than a restaurant. It’s a reminder of what happens when a community decides that its history is worth preserving. It’s about the resilience of the Bates and McNary families. It’s about the fact that a good meal can bridge gaps that politics can't. Next time you're in Memphis, skip the tourist traps on Beale Street for one meal. Head south. Look for the sign on the corner. Grab a tray. It’s time to eat.