Simple, Savory, and Absolutely Not for Dessert

If you've never had grits, let me tell you right now that you're missing out on the heart and soul of Southern cuisine.

Every time I turn around, someone's trying to "improve" grits. But let me be clear: you can't improve on perfection.

Grits are ground corn, cooked with water, salt, and a touch of butter—simple as that. They're the breakfast of champions, the side dish of choice, and the glue that holds the South together. They've survived centuries without an identity problem. You can eat them with shrimp, with bacon, with sausage, or just a pat of butter. But they don't need anything extra.

And then there's this new trend—people putting sugar in their grits like they're some kind of dessert. Bless their hearts, but that's not how it's done down here.

Putting sugar in grits or cornbread is the beginning of how to summon a demon. It's evil, black magic, and utter perversion. Somebody's bound to get hurt.

There was a devil woman who had a cooking show on TV. She inflicted pain and suffering on the residents of Savannah and brought what the Book of Leviticus would have called "strange fire" upon the South. She had a bunch of foodie TV Yankees from New York hyperventilating over her sweet cornbread and some terrorist function she had done to her grits. It was like putting a pig in a dress and makeup and kissing it while it went down a fashion runway.

"That's how we do it in Georgia," that Beelzebub said with the smile of a televangelist and the swagger of a used car salesman. Daddy had heard enough.

"Horseshit!" he hollered, almost tears in his eyes. He flung his paper at the television screen with intent to injure and maim. Dad beseeched the Lord above to expedite her and her fellow demons to the eternal Lake of Fire.

He did not accommodate the request. She went back into the kitchen because she's not literally a demon. Just a wayward cook with horrid taste and a lack of proper understanding of authentic and historical Southern food. Like that chicken and waffles nonsense. But that's for another day.

I've seen it with my own eyes—people stirring sugar into their grits like they're making oatmeal. This is a crime against taste, a betrayal of everything that's right in the world. You might as well throw a banana in there and call it a smoothie because that's the road you're heading down. Grits are not dessert, people. They're not a breakfast cereal you pour milk over. They're a side dish with dignity.

You want to eat something sweet in the morning? Try a doughnut. But don't bring that sugar into my grits. If I wanted something sweet, I'd order French toast or pancakes, not this abomination you're trying to pass off as Southern cuisine.

Get behind me, Satan.

For Southerners, grits are more than food—they're a way of life. You don't mess with grits unless you've got a good reason, and trust me, no one's got a reason good enough. For generations, grits have been served savory, like they were meant to be. My grandmother, may she rest in peace, would never have stood for such nonsense. She'd make a pot of grits, stir in some butter, salt, and pepper, and serve them with sausage or ham.

Grits are made to be paired with eggs, biscuits, and bacon. They've been doing this for centuries, and you don't just come along and rewrite the rulebook. That's not how we do things down here. I remember one morning, my mama made me grits with bacon and eggs, and I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. No sugar, no nonsense, just good food made with love. That's the Southern way.

Now, I'm all for innovation in the kitchen, but some things should be left alone. Grits don't need fancy ingredients like garlic, cheese, or, heaven forbid, truffle oil. Grits are perfect in their simplicity. The moment someone tells me they've added cheese to their grits, I'm ready to walk out of the room. It's like throwing a tuxedo on a dog. It's not necessary, and it just makes things worse.

Next thing you know, some Millennials will start putting avocado in their grits. Don't laugh; it's probably already happening somewhere. If it does, I'll be writing a strongly worded letter to the culinary gods.

The beauty of grits is that they're a blank canvas. They don't need to be loaded down with fancy stuff to taste good. They're perfect just the way they are. It's plainly evident that the simplest things are the best things. A bowl of grits, hot off the stove, with butter melting on top—that's perfection. You don't mess with perfection.

So, let's all agree to stop trying to "improve" grits, okay? Stop with your insanity that's gonna get you locked up in a loony bin somewhere if you keep it up. Let’s just keep them salty, buttery, and as simple as a Sunday morning. If you want sweet, grab a pie, but don't ruin my grits in the process.

At the end of the day, grits are a Southern tradition. They're comfort food, they're history, they're family. If you want to mess with grits, you better be prepared to explain yourself to every Southern grandmother within a 50-mile radius and the grandpa on the front porch with a shotgun.

We're gonna put this to bed once and for all: sweet grits are an abomination designed and unleashed from the smoldering fiery pits of Hell, and we're not having it in my house. Keep your sugar for your tea and your pies, and let grits be grits. After all, they've been good enough for hundreds of years, and they don't need any sugar-coating.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make myself a bowl of grits the right way, and I’m not even going to think about adding sugar. Because some things—like grits—are just better left alone.