As I’ve probably mentioned to the point of nausea, I’m from the American South. People in other parts of the country all seem to think they know what that means. so when they get to know me, it’s a mental hotfoot.
“But…you’re not like that!”
“Like what?” I ask in all innocence, and the conversation gets even more awkward from there. Yes, there are stereotypes. Some even aren’t that far off. A lot of it is bullshit and distortion and ignorance. However, in one regard I freely confess that I am exactly like that.
I do love my grits.
It’s my go to breakfast food and has been for a long time. Then I moved to New York state, for reasons far too complicated to get into here. I was resigning myself to having to order my grits supply online, until I found out they’re actually available here. That surprised me, right along with finding more people flying the Battle Flag of the Army of Northern Virginia than had likely ever been to Virginia, or any place below the Mason-Dixon line. Unlike the latter, finding grits was a pleasant surprise.
Then the year that wasn’t. Covid. Shortages of paper towels and toilet paper, which seem mostly if not entirely over, except for cat food, which is often in short supply. Then, for the past two weeks, our grocery has been completely out of grits. None. Zip. Nada. I mean, it’s not as if they’ve ever had a lot. Maybe one stack in the cereal aisle, but that’s it. Only now, isn’t.
I shall try to be brave, but this state of affairs simply cannot continue.
I love grits. I hate to hear you can’t get any. I think we still can get them in west Texas. I have plenty in the cabinet, so I haven’t checked the store shelves lately.
I think (and hope) the situation is temporary.