Southern Cheese Grits

There is no more democratic dish in the Southern canon than grits. They've graced the tables of sharecroppers and senators alike, requiring nothing more than cornmeal, water, time, and attention. The addition of cheese came later, a gilding of the lily that somehow became as essential as the grits themselves.

The secret lives in the corn. Stone-ground grits retain their germ and hull, lending texture and flavor that instant varieties cannot approach. Quick grits are to stone-ground what canned soup is to homemade stock. They'll fill you, but they won't move you. Seek out a Southern mill if you can. Anson Mills, Geechie Boy, Logan Turnpike. These names mean something.

I learned to make grits from a woman in Charleston who stirred hers for the better part of an hour, never rushing, never doubting. She added the cheese at the end, off the heat, letting it melt into ribbons rather than seizing into clumps. Her grits were alive somehow, glossy and yielding. That's what we're after here.