Intro to Grits

My father hated grits.

See grits on a menu and he’d screw up his face in disgust. And right there, in the middle of a restaurant, he’d launch into describing them as slimy with the same consistency as snot on glass. He had no problem cheerfully expressing what he thought of them, run them down, and generally refusing to eat them even at gunpoint.

Give him eggs, bacon, and potatoes like God meant breakfast to be eaten. That was the natural order of things.

Did I mention that my father hated grits.

So, in my formative years, grits never once appeared in the kitchen. I don’t recall seeing them in the college cafeteria, or at the Police Academy. I had no idea at all what they were and thought (based on Dad’s description) that they were some weird animal by-products.

It wasn’t until I showed up at Ft. McClellan, Alabama for basic training at Charlie 10 that I encountered grits.

It was morning.

The sun wasn’t even up yet, and training hadn’t truly begun. We were in what was called “Fill Week.” That’s a weird gray area in the Army where you’re not exactly a civilian anymore but you’re not a soldier either. We were waiting for the company to do just that. Get everyone aboard. Once we had a full roster, then we could begin training.

We were rousted out of our bunks by the screaming of a parade whistle at the ungodly hour of 4 AM. I learned to loath that whistle. I started getting up ten minutes before the Drill Sgt would come in and start blowing on it. I’d be dressed and ready just so its shriek wouldn’t jar me out of sleep.

We were dressed in BDU uniforms that reeked of mothballs and shed strings. We each put on boots that were still hard and uncomfortable and then ordered to fall out downstairs where we stood awkwardly in formations. The morning report would be taken and then we were marched off to breakfast.

Our mess hall was just up a flight of stairs. We stood outside at parade rest, not daring to utter a sound, sneeze, or even glance about. The Drill would go in and come out a few minutes later. Slowly we started filing in, gave our names, and a girl at a desk marked us off.

Meals in the military are very good. What came out of Charlie-10s chow hall was food I’d toss up against anything coming out of the kitchens at Village Inn or IHOP. There were eggs. There was the option to get fried eggs or omelets, but in basic training, you’ve X number of minutes to eat and doing something custom eats into that time. So, lots of scrambled eggs. Pancakes and biscuits were served. Meats such as sausage links, bacon, or ham and of course lots of potatoes.

Buts there were bowls of this white stuff, not exactly mashed potatoes, but then looking a little to grainy to be Cream of Wheat. I grabbed a bowl and when I got to my table, I put milk and sugar in it.

The guy across from me made a face. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m putting milk and sugar in my Cream of Wheat,” I answered.

He shook his head. I don’t recall his name, but he was from Alabama and knew what he was talking about. “That’s not Cream of Wheat,” he said patiently.

“It’s not?”

“No. Those are grits.”

They sure didn’t look like the disgusting mess my father described. “What’s a Grit?”

“It’s made from hominy,” he said. “You eat it by putting a little salt and pepper on it, maybe a pat of butter.”

Of course, I’d ruined the grits I got that morning (or so I thought).

The next morning, I grabbed some more. This time, I employed the tribal wisdom he’d imparted to me and fixed it up. I dipped my spoon in, got it full, and brought it up to mouth. I recalled what my father had said about them.

I’m happy to report he was 100% wrong. Grits quickly became one of my favorite foods and almost any chance I get, I’ll eat them.

But it turns out my Grit Obi-Wan was also wrong. Apparently, how you eat grits is a little like religion or politics. There’s those who say there’s one way and only one way to eat a grit.

Then there’s the heretics camp (which I fall into).

A heretic might go ahead and put sugar and milk in their grits. They may also toss in some honey, maybe a little brown sugar, fruit, and Granola and call it breakfast. You can mix shredded cheese and onion in with them to form a casserole of sorts. You can toss an Italian twist on them and make Parmesan Grit Cakes. You can put eggs into them. Mix gravy. You can add shrimp, streak, chicken, assorted veggies. It seems there is no one way to eat grits.

My favorite is to crumble some bacon into it, let the taste leach through it and eat it that way.

In my next novel, Event Horizon, I have Will and Jonesy eating grits in the middle of a cold wintry mountain morning. These are Instant Grits, something no self-respecting southerner would even consider cooking or eating. Since Jonesy is from the Carolina’s, we’ll have to say he was just plain hungry and forgive him of that major indiscretion.

Also, since the boiling point of water is lower high up in the mountains where that part of the story takes place, the best they get is lukewarm food. You want hot food on a cold morning, but that’s the best you’re going to get that high up. There is a comment considering the quality of the food, of course.

Speaking of, I think I’ll have some grits (the real stuff – not instant) this morning.

But before I do too much of that, I need to see if they’re good for a diabetic. Hopefully, I won’t have to add them to the list of things I’ve given up all in the holy name of staying healthy.