True Grit(s)

I made grits and eggs this morning for myself and the little one.

For those unaware of what a grit is, a grit is a testament to mankind’s endless adaptability and proof that we will got to almost ludicrous lengths to find a way to make something edible.

And for those uninitiated in gritequette, I’ll share a few pointers. For my family and friends here in the Midwest, food is an art. In the South, it is a religion. We treat food with a respect and a reverence that you’d likely not understand. Little known is that the Civil War was the second major falling out of the states, the first being over BBQ sauces.

First, never eat plain grits. If you do you’re in for the same disappointment that your mother experiences when she finds out your girlfriend is pregnant with twins from two different fathers, one who is a tattoo artist and the other a carnival barker. Trust me, you don’t want this in your life.

Secondly, butter is a necessity. Plenty of it. The only wrong amount of butter is not enough. In fact, I’m quite sure a 1 to 1 grit to butter ratio is perfectly acceptable.

Butter is, however, the start. You construct a grit plate in the same way you assemble a small yield nuclear weapon. There are many intricate parts and pieces that must be put into place to yield the most palatable dish. Eggs, as I said, was our addition. I’m not telling you the secret to my eggs because it’s my one redeeming trait and the reason my wife hasn’t left me.

You can add bacon, sausage, shrimp, scallops, raccoon, you get the picture. You can add anything as grits have no taste by themselves and serve to suspend whatever you place in them. Gravy is a great addition but we didn’t go that far.

Salt is mandatory, and again, you cannot really go wrong with the amount unless you unscrew the cap and pour the entire container into the mix. Then add the pepper in sufficient quantities.

You must eat grits hot. Cold grits have the consistency of semi-cured concrete and become , impossibly, more distasteful than grits alone. Only serial killers and people with a death wish eat cold grits.

Some say you soak grits in buttermilk, some say you don’t. Some say you never eat instant grits, some say you can’t tell the difference. Either way you don’t microwave them you psychopath.

All that to say every morning is an adventure with a little one, and everything can be a chore or it can be fun. She plays drums with serving spoons and creates chaos in the kitchen while i make her morning meal and I turn on music and we just do our own thing. I’ve already spoken on morning time with the kid so I won’t repeat myself.

It’s easy to forget that every day is a new experience for them, and at her age, she’s beginning to comprehend things and it’s a fun for me to experience her moments of A-HA, when she grasps something as it is her. She doesn’t like everything we make, but that’s ok too. We’re learning together.

She won’t consciously remember these times when she’s older, but she’ll know somehow that we had some great times with little stuff like this. And even if I’m wrong, I get the reward of giggles and smiles and a grateful audience as I go about my normal routines. Who wouldn’t want that.

And she liked the grits.

True Grits that is.