Gree-its

Up here, we say "grits" quickly. The word jumps off the tongue like a bullet from a Remington, then leaves the room in stunned silence.

Now, with all I have said about Northwesterners taking their time to say things, embellishing the simple sentence with all kinds of flora, again, I say that "grits" explodes off the tongue and falls to the ground, stunned there in the silence of people looking at the speaker to say, "What?! Please explain!"

And as the speaker endulges in the best explanation they can come up with for the ignorant, they respond, "Oh! That stuff! I had some once at Aunt Emma Mae's house when we were visiting in Louisiana. Horrible stuff! I finally put cream and sugar on it and managed to . . . ."

STOP!
Don't --
Don't say another word!
Eww! You put sugar on your grits? Did your Aunt Emma Mae have a gun?

No! She did not! Because if she had, you would not be sitting here talking to me!

Sacrilege! The pure abominated gobbledygook of sacrilege
-- to put sugar on grits!

Deplorable ignorance! The stuff of treason against humanity!

Grits should be pampered, lolled-over, with melting butter, salt, and pepper.

Sometimes, cheese.

They should be savored; they should play long upon the tongue with a triumphant but quiet flair, then be swallowed slowly, exultantly, even while the spoon is seeking more. When they are all gone, they ought to be mourned with a yearning that will not allow the table any sustained absence of them.

And that is why Southerners do not say “grits” as Northwesterners do -- as though they are trying to rid themselves of the word.

No. Southerners revel in the sound, rejoicing in it, making it two syllables.
Gree-its.
And to do the word justice, hold each syllable out long and gloriously.

---

I was privileged, back in 1989, to have had a neighbor girl, age 15, whose mother seriously did not like her. Neither did her brother or sister. Finally, the mother kicked her out of the house in late June, with nowhere to go. She moved in with me and my children, just as we were going down the driveway on a cross-country trip to Portland, Oregon, in my new camper. It was her first trip out of Minnesota.

That August, she went with us on another trip to Murphysboro, Illinois. Reaching the southern part of the state, we stopped for brunch before pulling into our destination.

Now, Star was a very beautiful young lady, and I would say that the waiter was likely quite taken with her. He asked her what she wanted, and he wrote her order. Then he said to her, “Would you like grits with that?”

She thought for a moment, then replied sweetly, “Yes – one or two small ones.”