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Richard Crowson Commentary

My Nitty Gritty Confession

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Martin & Jessica O’Brien, flickr Creative Commons
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Well, they say that confession is good for the soul. (Nobody talks about the poor, hapless souls who have to listen to confessions, of course, but nevertheless…)

So here’s a confession: I eat instant grits.

I’m not talking about the so-called 5-minute grits (which, by the way, really take about 15 minutes but apparently the grits lobby is so strong that they’re allowed to skirt the laws about truth in labeling, but don’t get me started.) I mean instant grits. Just add water and microwave for a minute and 15 seconds. Yeah. I eat that stuff. Like, every morning. “So how did it come to this?” almost none of you are probably asking.

I grew up on grits and bacon. In adulthood I dropped out of “gritsville” for decades. My grocery only sells 5-minute grits and the instant, which are equally flavorless. Then, when I found myself gnawing at the mortar between the bricks around our fireplace I became aware of my grit deficiency and sought out the modern solution: instant grits.

I’ve had trouble getting sympathy from anyone about this grit crisis. My New York City born wife, I can tell, only feigns sympathy for me. One friend suggested I just go out to an Arkansas River sand bar and bring home a jar full. That’s how most people are towards grits.

I know it makes my dear, departed, Mississippian mother weep tears in heaven for me every single time. Still I do it. Lord help me. And now that I’m a vegetarian, I even put those abominable artificial bacon bits on them. I have truly hit grit bottom. If anyone out there knows of a good support group, please tell me.