Thoughts I Had While Cooking Grits

Grits bubbled and boiled. I stirred it hard, created whirling pattern with hot grits in the pan. I love grits. I love southern food. I wish I was back in the south. I wish I was traveling through the two-lane back roads in the morning somewhere, where southern food restaurants serving proper American southern food is easy. I wish I didn’t have to be cooking my own southern breakfast. Why is it that regional foods are not known in other parts of the world? Regional foods are so good! Even within US, when I travel outside of the southern region, I could not find any place serving grits or proper southern biscuit for breakfast. That beautiful, yellow mound of creamy grits that feels smooth and grainy at the same time in the mouth. That buttery not too flaky, not too fluffy, but not too heavy warm biscuit gives me so much pleasure and satisfaction to eat. I look at the clock, and it’s now 9:30 AM. It’s Sunday, but still, I regret waking up late again. I wish I didn’t have to spend 20 minutes cooking my southern breakfast and 15 minutes cleaning up after I finish eating. I wish I could just waltz into a friendly southern restaurant and be greeted with smiles: “Good mornin’!” Tables will be waiting for me with fresh white linens and shiny silverware. I wish I was going there with my southern friend and having a nice conversation with him/her as we enjoy the breakfast, in a place where I would be nourished and satisfied in both heart and soul.

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