True grits

I did not grow up in a grit-eating family. I’d beg and beg my mother to make grits, but she’d always say, “We don’t eat grits in this family. Now go eat your porridge.” OK, I lie…I didn’t grow up eating porridge or even curds and whey, another mysterious food found only in nursery rhymes. But back to the grits: I was obsessed. And so when we took a family vacation to New Orleans to see the King Tut exhibit back in the 70s, I was in heaven. Every menu had grits and I finally could eat this forbidden food with the fantastic name. (Just say the word to yourself, “Grits, grits, grits.” You can’t help but fall into a twang.)

And what did I discover in New Orleans? Grits are gooooooood. They’re creamy with just a hint of texture to keep it interesting. And they’re a marvelous vehicle for butter. I was hooked.
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