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One woman's grits may be
someone else's nausea cue
By PATRICIA J. GEISTER
of TheColumnists.com
Do you ever get a yearning for certain foods or cooking
aromas? This is a comfort food day for me. No connection whatsoever,
but while I was loading the dishwasher after breakfast I developed
a deep, intense desire for black-eyed peas cooked in beef broth
and onions. I have them simmering on the stove now, even as I
write, and am dreaming of that first delicious mouthful.
Rupert's nausea (from chemotherapy) is under control and I want
to keep it that way. Any time I cook on the stove, oven, or microwave,
the exhaust fan has to be running and the back door must be closed.
He says the usually good aroma of cooking now gives him something
akin to being seasick.
Bless his Northwestern heart, I feel so sorry for him. I'm a
Southern woman who needs and enjoys southern cooking and all
the warmth and atmosphere that goes along with it. The first
time I took him to a very popular restaurant here that's owned
and operated by a black family, I thought he looked like he landed
on the moon. His mother is a vegetarian (mostly because she hates
to cook for only herself) who wouldn't dream of applying a fork
to country sausage, grits (correctly pronounced gree-its), fried
eggs and toast.
Many Southerners and folks up and down the Southeastern Coast will
tell you that the only hominy worth eating is small hominy, or
grits, which they eat with everything---butter, gravy, country
ham, river shrimp, eggs, cheese, cream, fried fish, veal steak,
and a very local Charleston specialty named John's Island hot
liver pudding. The name is worrisome, the taste is heavenly,
a bit like Philadelphia scrapple.
He asked, "What's that cream of wheat stuff you're eating?"
"Honey, this isn't cream of wheat. Didn't you ever eat any
grits when you drove a truck through the South?"
"Grits? That stuff that tastes like bland sand?"
"Lower your voice! Please show some respect for good food,
man." Lord, I was hoping nobody around us heard him.
"Why aren't you putting sugar or jelly in it? It's cereal,
isn't it?"
"You don't put anything but a little salt and lots of butter
on hot grits, dear. Then what's left in the pot you cool in a
loaf pan and slice and fry it for dinner. You skip the potatoes
and use the fried mush, or what the grits became."
"Polenta? That's what the Italians call polenta?"
"No, no. Polenta is another texture and type of corn meal.
Grits comes from hominy, another way they use corn."
"I don't get it."
"You're not a Southerner, honey. Don't worry about it."
That's all right. I don't mind. At least I've converted him to
white beans and freshly sliced sweet onions served with my own
freshly baked corn bread.
I cook and serve him a lot of things he enjoys even if I won't
touch them. For instance, he likes pickled beets. Ugh! I'll eat
all the borscht made from beets (presented with a blob of sour
cream on top) you want to give me, but keep any other form of
beet for him alone. His salad dressing has to be french or dijon
sweet mustard and oil. Fine. Make mine ranch with dill or a zesty
italian.
Well, bless his heart, he never fails to tell me he likes my
cooking. He's a good man. And we both love a good lobster and
steamed vegetables. When we went back to New Hampshire to visit
some of his old friends, he introduced me to whole lobster, not
just those frozen tail things, and fresh East Coast sea scallops.
With food like that, I can overlook anything.
©2004 by Patricia J. Geister. The illustration is from IMSI's
Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael,
CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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