pmoa.net

Today is Wednesday and it is the day that I will update the site with my featured writer. We will call this feature, “Views from the North”. Jim (a fellow Syracuse alum) and world renowned Driving Range Ball Picker Upper Guy at Drumlins, will be writing these articles about anything. It’s as close to social commentary as we can get. So Let’s get down to his first post about…Grits

Greetings and salutations folks! I’m Jimmy Smith, contributing writer to the vast media machine that is www.pmoa.net. I’ll be here with you each week, or whenever I can fit time to write between reruns of “Blossom” and trips to Old Country Buffet. I’m here today to tackle the heart of the southern diet: grits, or I as I like to call them, K-mart Cream of Wheat.

I made a trip down south many months ago with a local rock band on a dilapidated airport shuttle, and the only thing I have to show for it, besides some crotch fungus and off-center nipple rings, is a taste for grits. I first sampled this southern delight outside of Charlotte, with a ham steak and some coffee, and boy were they tasty. Served in a bowl bigger than the ones Ricky Williams smokes from, they were light, buttery, and filling as all hell. But, they reminded me of my childhood, and I didn’t place the connection until now.

When I was young, my father would serve me something called Cream of Wheat for breakfast. It was a hot, creamy cereal that I’d eat with milk and tons of sugar. Grits and Cream of Wheat are basically the exact same thing, though served differently. This identity thieving is not my main problem with grits, though.

My problem with grits is they have this connotation of representing the south. You’ve seen “My Cousin Vinny,” you know what I’m talking about. The Southern Belle takes much care in preparing her grits, whereas the Yankee gentleman throws some C-O-W in some boiling water and mows down.

All in all, grits aren’t what they are cracked up to be. They make you fat and make you talk funny. But, there is one thing, like Cream of Wheat, that they got going for them; at least they ain’t fuckin’ oatmeal.