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Fish and Grits

Jeffrey K. Actor

MY RETIREMENT BUCKET list includes long drives across the U.S. in search of the unexpected.

Such trips appeal to my frugal nature. As a rule, the total cost of gas, hotels and meals is usually less than the total for roundtrip plane tickets, airport parking fees and baggage expenses. This might not be true for single travelers. But it’s a guideline that works for my wife and me.

We typically pack peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fruit, drinks and cookies for roadside breaks, thus limiting our meal costs. Still, I love stopping at random eateries in small towns, filled with locals willing to share stories and tall tales. Indeed, I know my desires well enough, to the point where I snuck a small line item into our travel budget for “whim eating adventures.”

Recently, Lori and I drove from Texas to visit my mother on Florida’s west coast. It was a two-day venture that took us across rivers that were difficult to pronounce, and through places that were even harder to spell. We had no set itinerary. Rather, we simply wished to enjoy the sights along the way.

We stopped close to midnight halfway across Mississippi, finding a place to stay on the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico, outside a postage-stamp-sized town whose name screamed for another vowel. We awoke hungry and searched for an inexpensive breakfast place before starting the second leg of our drive.

I punched the word “diner” into my iPhone. To my chagrin, there were no hits. Undeterred, Lori entered “cafe.” Lo and behold, 14 entries appeared, which was odd since the town’s population on a roadside sign was listed at just 18,387. No matter.  Perhaps we stumbled into a well-to-do suburb of Biloxi, rich in history and culture. More likely, there was a culinary training institution nearby, and the cafes catered to high-rolling casino visitors.

We picked a cafe with an engaging name, input the address into our driving app, and left with an appetite whetted for a meal filled with conversation and local food. We drove past homes with classic white pillared southern-style porches and perfectly arranged sugar magnolia trees, the beauty of which we missed during the previous day’s nighttime arrival.

My inner frugal spidey sense immediately tingled upon entering the establishment. A well-coifed hostess seated us at a marble-topped table. A waitress wearing Prada soon appeared with a glossy menu sporting breakfast entrees with fancy descriptions. While I was certain that their baked avocado and ricotta pancakes were scrumptious, all I wanted was a strong cup of Joe, sunny-side-up eggs and some cheese grits. You can always judge a breakfast establishment by the quality of its grits.

I should have listened to my gut and politely left to find a cheaper breakfast emporium, yet my empty stomach growled loudly in a forceful language all its own. Our server answered our questions politely, but was definitely not the garrulous type. Try as we might, we simply couldn’t engage her in meaningful conversation. We each ordered an overpriced omelet and biscuit. I had a mocha latte, while my wife had a chai tea.

Overall, the food was pleasant, although I left with a slightly sour taste in my mouth. I was aghast when the bill arrived, which included an opt-out box for a suggested 25% tip. There was also a 2.5% credit card convenience fee. The total represented more than our entire day’s food budget. I was physically satiated but disappointed. This place certainly didn’t satisfy my bucket list desire.

We had better luck on the trip home. We arrived at our hotel in Tallahassee, Florida, just as the late afternoon rush hour traffic was abating. Hungry and exhausted from traveling, we asked the desk clerk about local eateries. She handed us the hotel’s printed list. But then, almost as if taking pity on two weary travelers, she leaned over the counter and shared that there was a special place right across the street.

We gambled and took her suggestion. The first hint we’d hit pay dirt was the parking lot. A majority of the cars were as badly in need of a wash as our aging Honda CR-V. A pleasant vibe and conversational hum welcomed us. The place was full but not overcrowded. The staff sported well-worn and faded T-shirts adorned with the restaurant’s logo, which juxtaposed two energetic-looking fish caricatures.

The cashier called my wife “honey” and directed us to sit at any empty table. As we settled into a spacious booth, we heard several waiters greet locals by name, who reciprocated by peppering the servers with questions about their family.

The menu was simple: six types of fish prepared battered and deep fried, blackened or grilled. Each entrée came with two side orders and hush puppies. For those in the know, such as my wife who was raised in Louisiana, hush puppies are basically deep-fried cornbread balls. I grew up in Pennsylvania. There, Hush Puppies were a brand of shoe.

Our waitress wondered if we had questions about the menu or if we needed more time before ordering. I asked about the fish and grits. Her eyes sparkled, as if I’d stumbled upon a hidden gem only truly appreciated by regulars looking for fortification before starting their night shift. With an infectious grin, she asked if I wanted my base plain or cheesy.

I ordered blackened trout over cheese grits, accompanied with sides of homemade coleslaw and applesauce, plus a bottomless glass of iced sweet tea to wash it down. The second time she returned to our table, we struck up a conversation and shared tidbits about life in general. She was a November baby, loved the cold, and was going camping the following weekend. More important, we learned she was working her way through community college, earning a degree in hospitality administration and management. She treated us like regulars, letting her guard down to make us feel welcome.

The food nourished both our bodies and our souls. The price for two dinners, including a hefty tip for our waitress, was substantially less than the breakfast mentioned above. On a whim, I slipped an extra Jackson under my plate, our small way of supporting a working gal’s education dreams.

Jeffrey K. Actor, PhD, was a professor at a major medical school in Houston for more than 25 years, serving as an academic researcher with interests in how immune responses function to fight pathogenic diseases. Jeff’s retirement goals are to write short science fiction stories, volunteer in the community and spend time in his garden. Check out his earlier articles.

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Donny Hrubes
4 months ago

Thanks Jeff,
I was in TexarKAna a few months ago and a lady friend and I drove to Kentucky for a tourist attraction. Being from Colorado, I am very pleased to experience good ol Southern hospitality!
Going the other direction in Utah I have found a little wonderful cafe to have dinner. It’s little wonder why, as there’s little plaques on displayed by some of the tables that have different notable mentioned as sitting in the booth. Names as Stephen King, Tommy Lee Jones and others are included.
They are a natural thing to chat with the wait people about. Oh the stories!
It’s a delightful, wonderful little cafe to patronize.

Will
4 months ago

My kind of travel!

David Lancaster
4 months ago

My eatery philosophy is I would rather take a chance on having a bad meal at a local eatery, than eating a “cookie cutter” meal at a chain. PS and hardly ever fast food…. YUCK!

Rick Connor
5 months ago

Fun story Jeff. My wife is very good at asking locals where they go to eat. It has led us to some great experiences, including having after dinner drinks in Florence with the local owners. They introduced us to Amaro, which is now big everywhere.

On a recent trip to Kiawah Island I had the best, and my first, Shrimp and grits. I’d be happy to get some recipes!!

David Lancaster
4 months ago
Reply to  Rick Connor

We always ask the locals where to eat. I phrase it this way. “Where do YOU go to eat for the best food.” If I’m in a tourist town I add, “not where you tell tourists to go, but you yourself.”

Andrew Forsythe
5 months ago

Jeff, great story. Our eldest daughter and son-in-law had an experience similar to Ken’s. They’d just moved from Phoenix, and a fairly yuppie experience, to Little Rock. To celebrate, they dined at one of LR’s most upscale steakhouses. Their waitress didn’t even ask permission as with Ken’s experience but instead just plopped down at their table and had a friendly conversation. Welcome to Arkansas!

As for grits, I’ll forego modesty and confess that I make a great spicy shrimp with cheese grits.

Rick Connor
5 months ago

Andrew – not -fair – we need the recipe!

Andrew Forsythe
5 months ago
Reply to  Rick Connor

Rick, just sent it to you via LinkedIn. I hardly use LinkedIn so hopefully you receive it OK.

My wife is the expert chef in the family. I only make very simple recipes and what I sent you is just that.

If anyone else would like it, shoot me a message via LinkedIn.

Nuke Ken
5 months ago

Andrew, I made an edit to my post that might clarify why our waitress asked permission. And you might have inspired me to try making more creative grits recipes.

Andrew Forsythe
5 months ago
Reply to  Nuke Ken

Ken, I like it even more after the edit!

Jeff
5 months ago

Me too!

Dan Smith
5 months ago

The latter is my kind of place as well. When on the road and in search of a meal, in addition to Google, we also use Trip Advisor to check out customer reviews.

David Lancaster
4 months ago
Reply to  Dan Smith

I use Trip Advisor as well, but just look at the star rating. I don’t look at individual reviews, like my wife does, as some will say it’s the worst meal they ever have eaten, and others the best.

Nuke Ken
5 months ago

Jeff, I really enjoyed this story. Although Hush Puppies are shoes to me also, I’ve enjoyed grits ever since attending college in southwest Virginia. I love eateries like the last one you described. One time, in Charleston SC, our friendly young waitress asked permission to join us at lunch, which we were eating at an off-peak hour. She pulled up a chair and sat at our table with us. We talked like long time friends over the meal. And to be clear: she was eating her own lunch at our table while we talked. It’s one of my favorite dining memories ever. It didn’t hurt that the kabobs were fabulous. Thanks for sharing this!

Last edited 5 months ago by Nuke Ken
Jeff
5 months ago
Reply to  Nuke Ken

Ken, A priceless memory!

Last edited 4 months ago by Jeff
Edmund Marsh
5 months ago

Jeff, I grew up in North Florida, with a culture decidedly different from the southern half of the state. Where I now live, grits are plentiful, but good fresh fish scarce. Thanks for a nice reminiscence.

Last edited 5 months ago by Edmund Marsh
Jeff
5 months ago
Reply to  Edmund Marsh

Ed, I was thinking that someone should re-mark a US map, perhaps replacing the Mason-Dixon line with a line that separates sweet tea and grits states from those that are lacking those essential foods!

Last edited 5 months ago by Jeff
R Quinn
5 months ago
Reply to  Jeff

You do know the Mason Dixon Line crosses NJ 😁 We eat grits a couple of times a week.

Jeff
4 months ago
Reply to  R Quinn

Indeed. My wife was born and bred in Louisiana. I made a promise my first job would be south of the M-D line. Ended up just outside of DC. But I don’t recall that the grits were anything to speak of there….

Last edited 4 months ago by Jeff
Kurt Yokum
4 months ago
Reply to  R Quinn

Well Dick, bless your heart!

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