In Praise of Grits
I love corn in all varieties, shapes and textures.
Fresh on the cob, slathered with butter and salt.
Corn, knife sliced off blanched cobs.
Yellow or white grains, served whole or creamed.
An unpeeled ear, charcoal roasted, rubbed with lime.
Ripe corn from the garden, frozen or canned.
Shucked and dried kernels off the cob.
Ground into flour, made into corn muffins.
Pounded into masa, patted, slapped, baked into tortillas.
Boiled rough cracked corn in salt water for grits.
I love grits, they travel me back to Texas
Where our boys were born and raised.
Good old-fashioned grits (never instant),
I boil stone cut grits in salty water.
We eat grits for breakfast with butter and cracked pepper.
Or a traditional southern dish of grits and fried
Smothered in creamed gravy, with greens on the side.
Grits open up miles of clear blue Texas skies
Where the sun shines so bright, you have to wear shades,
Where you can’t gage far from near on rolling prairie grass,
Where long horn steer and antelope roam on ranches,
Where the legend of Bigfoot Wallace, Texas Ranger,
Lives on in the hill country along the Llano River
And bluebonnets grow bigger than his feet or appetite,
Where Big Tex stands at the Dallas State Fair entrance
(Even though he burned in a fire in October 2012
Until they rebuilt his fifty foot frame, cowboy clothes),
And where old-fashioned grits, the only real kind,
Boil in a pot of water for exactly twenty minutes
As every lover of the movie My Cousin Vinny knows.
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Date Published: June 20, 2020