I woke up this morning craving cheese grits; obviously I'm not pregnant, and unlike Abraham and Sarah in the Bible, I wouldn't be laughing if an angel told me I was. Anyhow, I'm always craving something or other, and many times our meals are driven by some food item I'm wishing for.
I argued with myself for an hour or more this morning, knowing that grits aren't the healthiest food. Even if they were, I'd be making them unhealthy adding butter and Velveeta (or a store brand of it). Finally, my stomach growling, I decided to just give in and get it over with.
Nobody in my family ever made grits; I don't know that I ever heard of them until some woman in a TV show said "Kiss my grits!" a lot. As an adult I tried them a time or two when eating breakfast out, but I wasn't a fan. My son who lives in Georgia adds sugar to them as if it was Cream of Wheat. So does his wife, who insists that's the way southern people eat them. However, any southern recipe for grits that I've find online never mentions sugar.
In the last few years I became so curious I went searching for some form of grits I would like. After reading various books about southern food and googling recipes, I found the recipe that won me over on the side of a Quaker Grits box. It's on the old-fashioned and the five-minute boxes. Lately I've had trouble finding the old-fashioned grits, which I prefer. But if all I can get is the five-minute variety, I'll take it. When it's done cooking, I put the cheese in it and a chunk of butter, and garlic powder and cayenne pepper; Cliff and I both enjoy it once or twice a month. I just eat a bowl of grits, nothing else, while Cliff likes an egg with his, and toast. This morning there was a leftover biscuit he chose instead of toast.
You could never have told me I would ever be eating grits, but here I am, craving them at times.
As I think about all the good things I can choose to eat at any time, I think about the people in Gaza who have almost no food. It makes me feel selfish. So many little children are suffering, hungry and scared, and we in the USA are all planning a big Thanksgiving dinner. I imagine most of the families in Israel and Gaza and Ukraine would not have chosen to be at war, but there they are in the middle of wars. I mustn't brood on it, and yet what kind of person can pretend it isn't happening? I pray for the end of war, knowing that won't happen as long as there are people on the earth. We will never get along. Americans can't even run our government without fighting, so we don't have much to brag about either.
I agree with your rant. Some of these conflicts have been going on for thousands of years. They're more like blood feuds. Don't get me started on the crazies in our government--very scary. I've never had grits; are they like polenta?
ReplyDeleteA little bit, I guess; it's all corn. The texture is nothing like it though. Grits are gritty. Ha.
DeleteI am a southern raised girl who loves her grits and I have NEVER put sugar in mine!! My grandmother was the wife of a tobacco farmer and her daily routine was to cook grits every morning with bacon or sausage, fresh homemade biscuits and eggs. We always had our eggs sunny side up and then dumped the grits on top and mixed it up with salt and pepper. Those eggs were fried in lard they rendered when they slaughtered a hog. The milk came from the old cow, Tiny. Most everything in her kitchen came from the farm. Every Saturday we all loaded into my grandfather's truck, three adults and two kids. I was the favored youngest and was allowed to stand on the seat, half of me behind his back and the other half behind my grandmother's back. My sister sat in my Mother's lap. We would go to one of the two grocery stores "in town" and my grandmother would buy a 20 lb. sack of flour and 10 lb. sack of sugar. Spices were salt and pepper, vanilla extract and for treats a big bag of unpopped corn. If we were behaved we were allowed to have a 6 ounce bottle of Coke and either a cookie or candy. The only indoor plumbing was in the kitchen. A hand pump for cold water. since I was "the baby" I was allowed to pee off the side of the back porch, otherwise, we used an out house. Baths were conducted weekly in the kitchen. My grandfather manned the pump and my grandmother boiled the water and he would carry it to the wash tub. When the water was just right, I got the first bath (I peed in the water, don't tell!), then my sister, my mother and then my grandparents. There was a curtain we pulled for privacy in the kitchen. My Daddy was in the Navy and would be deployed for 9 months at a time and we always went back to Georgia while he was away. These are fond memories for me. This was the only stability in my childhood. My mother was, no doubt, bi-polar and her mood dictated our lives. But when I was in my grandparents house, I was protected for the most part, loved and cherished. My mother's life was sad, but she didn't sugar her grits either!!
ReplyDeleteYou and I have childhoods in common, except we didn't have water in the house until we moved to Kansas City when I was 12 years old. Thanks for this comment. It's very interesting!
DeleteI adore polenta, but I'm still working on developing a taste for grits.
ReplyDeleteI have never ate grits.
ReplyDeleteWars and rumors of war…that’s our lot.
I never really cared for grits, I guess mostly because I had only had them where I live up north of the Mason Dixon line. When I had my first bite of cheesy jalapeno grits from down south, I was in love! I have tried to replicate it over the years and though while better than grits I can get around me, it still doesn't hold a candle to the real thing I eat in the deep south.
ReplyDeleteI guess southerners know their grits.
DeleteBeen living in Georgia for all my 70 years and have never eaten sugar in my grits. I have eaten them with cheese once or twice. When I cook breakfast, it's usually bacon ( or sausage), eggs and grits with toast. My favorite is country ham, grits and redeye gravy! Hope you and Cliff have a great Thanksgiving!
ReplyDeleteSame to you, Carlene.
DeleteThat was a beautiful video. I was expecting the John Donne poem, but saw they changed the words which were just as lovely.
ReplyDeleteWhat's happening in Israel and Gaza breaks my heart. When my son was growing up in Illinois, he hung out with a group of diverse friends. There were Jewish boys and Palestinian boys. Sadly, they visited their families' countries and returned somewhat changed. The group broke up after that. That was sad to see.
As for our country. Sigh... It's very sad. There's so much misinformation flying about on social media. And Congress is a wreck.