This goes in the never-again file.
Southerners fry everything. Well, most do. I admit to failing in this department. For the most part, fresh taste better than fried in my opinion. I had heard of fried grits before but had never tried it. For one thing, we never have leftovers. I am the queen of making just enough. Anyway, yesterday hubby wasn’t feeling too good so there was a large amount of cheezy grits left. I hate waste, so in the ridge they go. I was finally going to get to try those fried grits I had heard about.
I am going to tell you something that no one else bothered to tell me. Don’t do it. If anyone says you should try it, don’t fall for it. I hate to let the cat out of the bag, but this must be a cruel prank.
I put a little oil in the bottom of the pan, dumped the congealed grits out on my cutting board, sliced, and then gently laid the slices into the hot grease. It was like mini popcorn. Tiny specks of hot, oily grits popped out all over the stove, floor, counters, the ceiling, and me. Have you ever shaved your legs while cold? All of those tiny red dots that are left behind—add fire to that equation.
My husband was thrilled when I told him to stay out of the kitchen until I could get it cleaned up. Now that the two of us are the only ones left in the house, I have been trying to train him to clean. This includes loading the dishwasher, which he hates. I sprayed everything down with some Mr. Clean before sitting down the write this.
I’m going to put more aloe on my face and arms and then go scrape grits and grease from the ceiling. Unfortunately for me, the bald-headed dude from the commercials won’t actually come in and take care of the cleaning for me. It would be so cool if he would so I could spend more time writing.