It’s a ritual really; my many mornings spent in perfecting parboiled eggs and getting grits to assemble into a creamy congregation. I cannot recall when this breakfast practice first began; but, as I continued to crack the first attempts at parboiled eggs, I’m sure the events leading up to it were runny and slimy. Honestly, aren’t most of our comfort food creations born from some slimy times?
For a brief time, while focusing on the yolks, I came to understand this as purely protein, and not as a chicken’s child. Also, there came the realization that some people would never share this meal with me simply because they had not made this crucial division. I can respect that. However, I can’t help but feel like they may be missing out on one of the world’s best combos.
Grits get a bad image instantly due to their unfortunate name. While laughing in the face of convention, I make mine into explicitly gritty, creamy goodness. Distractions have led to stiff grits, and soupy mixtures that couldn’t pass for pig slop. Ah yes, the splendor of trial and error is a terrifyingly beautiful thing. Only experience has taught me to balance the butter and swirl the yellow yolk ribbons into such a divine dish.
Perhaps in the future I will add some snippets of bacon or maybe some crumbles of crunchiness in no particular form. I have found my comfort food, and I eat from a bowl full of potential.
We all know my unfortunate postion on the forbidden food, and the last time my inner Eve caved, I had pretty good knowledge of what evil really is. However, I'm with ya on the grits. I'm working on perfecting the balance of butter and sweet honey goodness. I'm not sure how bacon crumbles would fit though. :)
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