Gone grits in New York

Who would have ever thought it?

But there it was. On the menu of a diner located in New York City’s Upper West Side: Grits — $3.50.

I couldn’t believe it. But I just had to taste New York City grits, so I ordered them. We have to keep an eye out on those Yankees. When they start taking up with grits, something’s going on.

The waiter returned. “We no have grits,” he replied in imperfect English.

That didn’t surprise me. But what he said next did.

“Each morning, he make big pot of grits.” With his hands, he indicated an enormous container. “This morning, all gone. No more.”

I blinked. “You’re out of grits?”

He nodded.

“You sold a big pot of grits this morning?” With my hands, I illustrated the same size pot that he had shown.

He nodded. “All gone. Every morning, gone. People like grits.”

Now, tell me this: Who in New York City is eating grits? Aren’t some of them up there the ones who make fun of us for eating grits, our most famous regional food? Aren’t some of them guilty of saying that we talk like we have a mouth full of grits? Aren’t some of them the ones who ask, “What is grits?”

I once had a New York friend say to me, “I’d like to taste a grit sometime and see what it tastes like.”

What has happened?

I lived in Indianapolis for a couple of years and I could never find grits in the grocery store. Yet, New York City has now discovered them and they’re being served in diners. This proves, of course, that if you live long enough, you are liable to see anything. Yankees eating grits, though, is one thing I never thought I’d see.

I was determined to taste New York City grits so I returned to the diner the next morning and, again, ordered grits. The waiter took my order but came back a few minutes later.

“Grits gone. No more.”

I gave him an overstated Southern look of disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head. “I no joke. No grits.”

“Tell me something,” I continued because letting go of astonishing situations is not my strong suit. “Who’s eating these grits? Is it visiting Southerners, New Yorkers, foreigners? Who?”

He shrugged. “Everybody. Everybody eat grits.”

And, even more significant, in my opinion, is that they’re paying $3.50 a bowl for them.

Now, think about that if folks will pay that much for grits made in New York City, how much they would pay for genuine Southern-made grits. This might be a new, hot franchise idea. This could be a new trend like bagels became several years ago. Some enterprising Southerner might be able to make a fortune. (And, Lord, please let it be a Southerner. It would be a mockery for a Yankee to become rich from selling grits.)

For the record, though, there is one Southern specialty that New York has yet to discover and, from what I see, Yankees are totally uninterested in taking it up.

You may be happy to know that sweet tea is still solely ours. No restaurant in New York has any interest in serving it or learning more about it.

Now, if we could just get our grits back.