The old menu, dated 1961, really pushes the “Chicken-On-The-Go” featured on the cover, described as “the South’s best golden-brown fried chicken served unjointed without silverware.”
Dear Vance: I understand that a popular eatery called the Cotton Boll once stood near Overton Park, but I can find no trace of that establishment. Can you help? — T.G., Memphis.
Dear T.G.: Anyone reading the winners of the Readers’ Restaurant Poll in this issue and perusing our “Memphis Eats A-Z” feature is surely struck by this notion: With so many classic dining establishments in town, and so many restaurateurs who have devoted their lives to serving mouth-watering dining dishes, why hasn’t our city ever established something like a Restaurant Hall of Fame?
I suppose they are waiting for the Lauderdale Foundation to kick off the fund-raising for such a venture. And I’ll be glad to do that — just as soon as I find some funds of my own.
But let me say right now that if I were allowed a vote, the first person I would nominate for inclusion in a culinary hall of fame would be Harold Fortune. This gentleman established three of our city’s most popular eateries: Fortune’s Belvedere, Fortune’s Jungle Garden (both on Union Avenue), and Fortune’s Cotton Boll, on East Parkway, where Sam Cooper dead-ends into Overton Park.
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Harold Fortune at the Jungle Garden, with his pet champanzee.
I’ve told stories of his Belvedere and Jungle Garden ventures before, as I’m sure everyone remembers. But I’ve put off saying much about the Cotton Boll, for the simple reason that I wasn’t able to find much about the place — not even a grainy snapshot. Until now, that is, when I turned up a 1961 menu (left), which has a decent image of the restaurant on the cover, and inside — well, I’ll get to that in a minute.
First, a quick background. Fortune was born in 1883 in Hickman, Kentucky, but his parents quite naturally brought him along when they moved to Memphis in the early 1900s to open a drugstore on Main Street. When he began working in the family business, young Harold quickly noticed that the most popular (and money-making) part of that operation was the soda fountain, and Fortune’s home-made ice cream was in such demand that drivers parked outside and waiters brought passengers their sodas, sundaes, and milkshakes. According to some historians, Fortune-Ward Drug Store was the first soda fountain in America to offer “drive-in” service.
With Fortune’s keen sense of the value of “drive-in” food, it’s not surprising that the Cotton Boll offered “Take-Out Treats.” The old menu really pushes the “Chicken-On-The-Go” featured on the cover, described as “the South’s best golden-brown fried chicken served unjointed without silverware.”
Sometime in the late 1920s, Fortune opened his own place at Union and Belvedere, a handsome mission-style building that he called Fortune’s Belvedere. He served diner-type food — hamburgers and hotdogs, mostly — and made his own ice cream from a small factory on the premises.
That location proved so successful that he embarked on a more ambitious plan — and created one of this city’s most fondly remembered “hot spots” for the young crowd. About a mile to the west, also on Union, he opened the famous Jungle Garden, also serving casual food, but in a “tropical” setting, complete with palm trees, bamboo, cages holding various wild animals, and even a pet chimpanzee (shown here).
In 1939, he opened a third location, but the one on East Parkway was considerably more sedate — more of a full-scale restaurant. That 1961 menu mentioned earlier offers an enticing selection of regular “sit-down” fare: T-bone steaks, filet mignon, pork chops, jumbo shrimp, veal cutlets, and more. That year, the most expensive items on the menu were the filet mignon for $2.95 and something called “Lobster Dainties” for only $2. Everything else, from steaks to seafood — whether it was a broiled whole flounder, stuffed deviled crabs, or Florida fried shrimp — was less than two bucks.
”Fortune’s Famous Ice Cream“ was sold across the Mid-South. This sign still hangs outside Square Books in Oxford, Mississippi. The building once housed a soda fountain.
The Cotton Boll served more than 20 different sandwiches. Diners enjoyed the usual fare such as hamburgers, grilled cheese, and ham and cheese, but one oddity that’s hard to find at any restaurant today — and quite a bargain at only 30 cents — was the goose liver sandwich.
Fortune apparently thought his salads were good enough to declare them “famous” and the menu reminded diners that chicken salad, potato salad, shrimp salad, and others were “crisp, fresh, and inviting, with vitamin-filled vegetables.”
The man got his start with soda fountains, and the Cotton Boll included frozen treats, among them an “extra good” ice cream sundae, milkshakes, malts, and freezes in three flavors (lime, orange, and pineapple). One item designed to “double your pleasure,” according to the menu, was a “Frosted Coke,” available for a quarter.
That intrigues me, for this reason: The menu’s listing for refreshments includes lemon- and limeades, sweet milk, chocolate milk, coffee, and even ice water. There’s not a single mention of a soft drink of any kind, yet they served a “frozen” Coke — presumably Coca-Cola.
Not everything came from the freezer. Other desserts included “homemade pies baked in our own kitchen” (apple, cherry, and pecan) and homemade layer cake, though they don’t say what flavors or icing; I guess you just asked.
With Fortune’s keen sense of the value of “drive-in” food, it’s not surprising that the Cotton Boll offered “Take-Out Treats.” The old menu really pushes the “Chicken-On-The-Go” featured on the cover, described as “the South’s best golden-brown fried chicken served unjointed without silverware.”
Yes, he said “unjointed” and I really don’t care to know what that means. It kind of makes me want to order something else. I mean, the chicken probably didn’t come with a head, either, but they don’t say “headless.” Some things are best left unsaid.
The only other “Take-Out Treat” was something a bit unusual: “Shrimp On-the-Go.” For just $1.50 diners carried home “tender jumbo fantail shrimp” (the menu doesn’t specify how many), along with hot rolls, a baked potato or French fries, and a combination salad. Now, Fortune was savvy about anything food-related, but I have to wonder how successful take-out shrimp was. He advises, “Eat it here while it’s hot — or it’s a delicious delight to enjoy while you drive.”
Really? I honestly can’t remember the last time — or anytime, for that matter — I noticed the driver of the next car munching on fried shrimp. Some things just don’t work as take-out food, if you ask me.
Incredibly popular at the time, none of Fortune’s restaurants have survived. He sold the Belvedere location, which had been converted into a full-blown ice cream factory, to Midwest Dairy, but the old buildings were demolished to make way for a gas station.
The Jungle Garden, his most famous venture, came down in the 1960s, when the city pushed I-240 through the city. It stood where Union Avenue crosses over the expressway today.
And the Cotton Boll? Another victim of the interstate system, it was demolished in the 1960s when everyone thought I-40 would slice through Overton Park. For years, the site was a vacant lot, with just a stump of the original sign remaining. Now, that whole block is being converted into a modern apartment complex.
Late in life, Fortune embarked on yet another venture, a combination pet and garden center on Elvis Presley Blvd., but I don’t believe he had made much progress on it when he died in 1963 at the age of 80.
He was quite a character, well-known around town, especially when he was accompanied by his pet chimpanzee. I hope I answered your question, T.G., and I’m glad I found the old menu. It’s an interesting artifact of bygone days because the back has a map directing visitors to long-gone local tourist attractions, such as Cherokee Golf Course on Lamar, and the Crescent Lake Hotel Court on Summer.
Perhaps someday I’ll find photos of the interior; I’d like to see if the inside matches the quaint Colonial Revival exterior. In the meantime, I have quite a hankering for a goose liver sandwich. I have no idea why.
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Mail: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis magazine, P.O. Box 1738, Memphis, TN 38101
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