It’s a hot day as I write this, a bit muggy even, and I’m reminded of summers in East Texas. I lived there for three years while attending college in the Piney Woods, a humid little slice of the Lone Star state encompassing towns with names like Big Sandy, Gladewater and Longview (birthplace of Matthew McConaughey — save that for your next trivia night). I can describe East Texas summers like this: When you step outside, someone throws a hot, wet blanket over you, making it difficult to move and breathe. Wherever you go, you are only ever thinking about this blanket, and how it has completely negated your morning shower by transforming you into a human sweat fountain.
When my mother was younger, she lived for a time in Gladewater, as did my grandparents, a fact that astonishes me because they had no air conditioning. I mean to say, no one did in those days. It simply boggles the mind. In carefully controlled laboratory conditions, scientists have been able to achieve a state known as supersaturation: air with a humidity level above 200 percent. I don’t know why the scientists didn’t simply walk around Gladewater in August.
And yet, the women in my family always seemed to be doing something in the kitchen that involved even more heat. There was invariably a pot of fresh, hot coffee on the counter, even if the temperature was 110 degrees and just looking outside made you sweat. Dinner would be a very hot business indeed with fried chicken and biscuits and salted slices of beefsteak tomatoes still warm from the garden. Breakfast was hot, too, with scrambled eggs, sausage patties, hot buttered toast and warm grits with butter and honey.
So we come to grits, a porridge made from coarsely ground and boiled cornmeal (not to be confused with hominy grits, which is made from corn treated with alkali). The best or “proper” way to eat grits is a subject at least as rife with controversy as whether pineapple belongs on pizza (yes). Whenever I was served grits by my mother’s family, it was sweet, eaten as a hot cereal option on par with cornmeal mush. (I learned about Malt-o-Meal and cream of wheat from my father’s Northern family. Both sides ate oatmeal, that great social equalizer.) However, I have since encountered droves of Southerners who turn up their noses in disgust at the idea of sweet grits. I was nearly shooed out of Pine State Biscuits in Portland a couple of years ago when I asked for grits with butter and honey. Grits, the hard-core savories declare, is meant to be salty, with cheese, shrimp, bacon, a little green onion and pepper. I say to you today: Can’t we all get along? Stop this fighting and enjoy grits both ways!