That happened to me this morning. I was reflecting on some great shrimp and grits I had at the House of Blues in Los Angeles, and remembered that I had some grits in the cupboard.
Hmmm … what if I took out some bacon, cut ‘em into lardons, crisped them up in the pan, and mixed them in with some grits? Yeah, that’s the ticket.
I thought about it for a while; every minute that passed convinced me that it’s what I was going to make for breakfast – with buttery scrambled eggs, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a steaming mug of Peet’s coffee. My mouth was already watering.
Eventually I couldn’t stand it any longer and jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and ran to the kitchen. You know what? I couldn’t find the grits. I swear I had some saved in a jar. But no, no grits.
Well, kill that fantasy (it was nice, real nice, while it lasted).
You know what? I think the wife dumped it to make room for her big ol’ bags of flour. The naughty girl.