Vic Socotra

22 November 2009

Suzie’s Cheese Grits

It is Sunday on the farm. Jeckle, the feral cat is back, mewling around the outside of the house. I am cooking breakfast, crafted of the remnants of the steak and potatoes of the night before with fresh country eggs fried in extra-virgin olive oil.

There is nothing in the Times that comes via satellite to get all worked up about, except that the Senate is in fact going to do something really big to us, only they haven't figured out exactly what yet.

It would be a perfect breakfast, save for the absence of grits.

I ran into grits for the first time in Hawaii, in the Flag Mess at Third Fleet, which was then on Ford Island, in one of the square white buildings that had seen The Day in 1941.

I was a junior functionary in the intelligence section, and had the morning briefing duty to update the three-star Commander on the whereabouts of all the Soviet units, mostly ballistic missile submarines, that were threatening Detroit and other American places with nuclear missiles.

It seems odd now, particularly since we have done as good a job on the Motor City as the Soviets would have on their worst day, but it was a big deal at the time, but it might be a case of you had to be there.

Anyway, not knowing that it was actually radical Islam that was going to plague the rest of my working life, I paid full attention to the acoustic locating data, and the game of counting coup on the erstwhile enemy with anti-submarine aircraft and pretend depth bombs.

At least until breakfast time, when it was possible to duck up three decks from the basement and grab a couple eggs, toast and a sausage link or two to banish the growling hunger stoked by the hours-old black coffee and the message board.

There was also something quite curious that the mess stewards offered: grits. It must have been added at some point in the life of the Staff, since I had never seen it on Midway, or in the officer’s mess in the Fleet.

They were innocuous enough, tasteless, almost, until a pool of fresh creamery butter melted in the middle of the little bowl, and the salt and pepper giving it some flavor.

They tell me it is a distinctly southern thing, the basically tasteless ground hominy porridge, but who doesn’t like butter, you know? I found out later, on the lanai at Suzie’s house just what you can paint on such a blank bland palate.

My pal Boats wrote to me about grits yesterday afternoon, contemplating the shrimp and bacon recipe. I pulled into the farm about the time the fog of the Jägermeister was wafting away. The trip down to the farm started just after the fifth interception was thrown in the Michigan-Ohio State game was thrown, and the inevitable was becoming real.

My older boy and his comrades were doing something odd, standing in the kitchen of the rental house in Falls Church. We used to call the ritual “depth charging,” like we intended to do to the Russians. It involved a very cold shot poured from a bottle of Jager, stored in the freezer, and a half-glass of Red Bulll, the energy drink. You can save the recipe if you want, though I am not sure I am going to hang on to it beyond the holidays.

But the point is that you drop the shot glass into the larger one filled with the energy drink, and then slug the thing down, chugalug, while standing in a semi-circle with other celebrants.

It is a jolt, I’ll tell you. Jager was originally marketed as a medicinal product in the Germany of 1934. It was suggested as a cure for everything from coughing to digestive problems, and used in World War II as a field anesthetic.

It sufficed to get me south of Gainesville, and past the Rt. 17 cut-off, and I didn’t care that much about the Buckeyes when I got to the farm and got the furnace on, and the computer fired up. I was thinking about shrimp and grits at that point, though I had a steak to grill and potatoes to bake.

Boats is an authentic Coon Ass native of Louisiana, and he said he “certainly had no problem with grits with anything but I never thought of grits with shrimp. Traditionally we always serve shrimp over rice from Biloxi to Galveston. I don't know about other places on the Gulf Coast or the Atlantic Coast south of Norfolk. But no self -respecting unreconstructed rebel would ever turn their nose up at a grits base for anything.”

Another pal chimed in from the upper south, from Memphis. He said: “We had the shrimp tonight. Not bad, and the bacon trick worked just as described. “ He and his lovely wife are purists, though, and they it served it with green beans and Cajun Dirty Rice with Andalusian sausage chunks and a crusty whole grain garlic bread.”

Innovation is everything, and the more so with cooking. I had the grill going white hot against the blackness of the night when I read the contribution from Southern California, where an improvised approach to the recipe was applied. This one started with frozen shrimp, turkey bacon (to pretend the cholesterol intake was lower), chili-lime seasoning, Jamaican Jerk seasoning, crushed red pepper, ground black pepper, garlic salt and honey. My pal cooked up to a nice spicy sauce, ladled over brown rice.

For the purists, I need to address what Boats thinks about the Cajun-style rub for the shrimp:

“What I'd do with the shrimp is more traditionally Cajun. I'd par boil the shrimp in Zataran’s brand shrimp-and-crab boil seasoning. The boiling gets the spices right down into the shrimp, and we hardly ever eat them any other way. I'd then reduce the cooking time once wrapped in the bacon but probably by not too much, if I don't over boil. The way we Coon Asses figure out how to do this is by using excess shrimp and bacon the first few times and taste a lot as we go along, modifying par boiling and cooking times as we go along.”

The rice faction clearly is holding the field, but I haven’t got to the grits yet.

Boats put it this way: “Shrimp on grits is a real departure from Gulf Coastal shrimp dishes. It’s the kind of thing that only a Yankee would think of at first, but would meet with instant Coon Ass approval. I mean suppose you had some fresh caught shrimp and you were fresh out of rice? I know "fusion cuisine" usually refers to the blending of the culinary techniques of two different cultures but I think you just hit on a real fusion idea.”

“People simply forget how radically different the North and South of the USA once were. I like the idea of fusion Cajun a lot better than I like toned down Cajun that is so prevalent in the North in so called "Cajun" and "Creole" restaurants.”

I agree with all that, but if there is fusion in here, it comes out of Suzie’s South Carolina kitchen, operated at that moment in time in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Here it is, and if you prefer the rice, I don’t blame you a bit.
I have just been trying to keep my mind off the turkey thing.

Suzie’s Garlic and Cheese Grits

Serves a dozen. Fewer if they are hungry.

6 cups free-range chicken broth
1 teaspoon sea or Kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon course-ground pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder, or crushed from the jar
1 small can diced green chilis
2 cups grits:
(Here is a tough one. Almost any grocery store has quick grits, but for goodness sake, a lot of the product sucks. Try Anson Mills, who does their own grinding and mails stuff to you (1922-C Gervais Street, Columbia, South Carolina 29201). I know it defeats the purpose, so figure out if you like this before you make a life commitment. Maybe tell yourself you are making up a mess of Madam Suzanne’s frommage polenta to justify it.
16 ounces Cheddar, cubed.
(Try Cabot’s, if you feel like it. Their mild cheddar is generally aged for 2 to 3 months, whereas an extra sharp might be aged for as long as a year or more. They are fanatics, and also have several aged between 16 months and two years. Of course, nothing melts like Velveeta, if texture is more important than teaste, but of course that isn’t cheese, just a low-melting point plastic)
1/2 cup milk
4 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
8 ounces grated sharp white Cheddar (Cabots works for me and they have big chunks in black wax coating at CostCo).

Directions:

Suzie would normally play tennis and kick your butt then get a nice big glass of red wine to go with the glow. I recommend the same, though your can substitute beer or vodka, or Jager, for that matter. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease up a large casserole dish, and in a medium saucepan bring the powdery stuff to a boil with the broth. Whisk in the grits until the whole mess is combined. If you don’t have a whisk, stir vigorously with a wooden spoon. Turn down the heat to low and simmer until the grits are thick, which will take less than ten minutes and don’t get distracted by the wine. Add three quarters of the drained diced green chilis, and add the cubed Cabots and milk and stir, slowly adding eggs and butter until it is a pleasing smooth consistency. Pour the grits mix into the casserole dish and dump the grated white cheddar on the top. Finish with the remaining drained green chilis. Pop the bad boy into the oven and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick (or your finger) comes out of the middle clean. Ouch!

Now, if you cooked the shrimp last night, you are left with a great side dish. If your didn’t, add the bacon-wrapped beauties and enjoy the fusion.

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