Thinking about grits and gator

You can't think about the south and the Seminole Inn with out thinking about grits. Growing up we ate grits, lots of grits, smothered in butter dripping down the sides and topped with black pepper. Sometimes on eggs, sunny side up and sometimes with fried brim and slaw. It was years later, when we had money that we added cheese. Then grits became wonderful creamy filled with cheese and dripping butter. Heaven, mouthful by mouthful.

A really important fack about cooking grits . It is impossible to make good grits without salting the water that they are cooked in. They have to be salted when they are being cooked or they never ever taste right.

..And I can't write about grits without writing about gator. Growing up in old Florida we never ate gator. We hunted gator and sold their hides. The middle of three girls, I gator hunted with my dad. The memories of gator hunting in jeans and squeaky tennis shoes with a headlight (highly illegal) called fire hunting, streaching my then short leggs to keep up with my dad as we walked through the pitch black woods still runs a chill up my spine.

More later: Recipes for cheese grits and gator