I grew up here in the South, the Deep South, in L.A, (Lower Alabama). My mama was the kind of mother who got up early every weekday morning to prepare a full country breakfast for her three girls. We had flaky biscuits, buttered before they came to the table; crisp strips of thick bacon, sliced to order at the local country store, and sometimes, patty or link sausage; eggs (fried for our oldest sister and scrambled for the rest of us), homemade blackberry jam, pear and fig preserves for the afore-mentioned biscuits. And we always had grits. Grits are a dish that leave Yankees often scratching their heads.
In the very funny movie “My Cousin Vinny,” set in a fictional Alabama town, “Fish out of water” lawyer Vinny is presented with a breakfast plate at a small town diner. Bacon, eggs . . . and a helping of some mysterious yellowish white substance with a pat of butter melting in the center.
“What–is this?” He asks, pointing to the white substance. “Them’s grits,” the cook responds.
“What is a grit?” Vinny asks. The cook replies that they are always grits, in the plural, a food milled from ground corn and cooked in boiling water. Vinny still looks pretty dubious. I want to tell him he’d better dig in quick, because hot grits, with a generous dash of salt, pepper and butter are delicious. Cold, congealed grits? Not so much.
I was an adult before I discovered the pleasures of shrimp and grits with a special sauce providing an extra kick. Absolutely delicious. ‘
Grits are so closely associated with our part of the country that a fellow Alabamaian, Deborah Ford, came up with a delightful book entitled, “GRITS:Girls Raised in the South.” So you see, I not only eat grits, I am a GRITS.
Hubby and I eat cereal most days for breakfast. For every so often, especially in cooler weather, we enjoy a breakfast supper. There’s bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits with jam and jelly–and grits.
Because grits are good for you. Hey, my daddy wouldn’t lie.
(other art by Google images)