Cooks Display Their True Grits

Grits, they call it--a name ineffably expressive; a turnoff to many who find the dish bland, runny and, well, gritty. Hominy has a nicer ring to it, shortened from the rockahominy of Virginia’s Algonquin Indians. Capt. John Smith described it as “bruized corne pounded, boiled thicke.”

Smith, who later had unrelated problems with the tribe, didn’t appear to fancy their food either. He lived too soon. Had he met Marion Williams, Myrna Buckley and/or Pearl Wooten, he’d have retired to Los Angeles on the spot.

The above-mentioned cooks, along with a dozen friendly competitors, crossed skillets the other day in the kitchen of the Helping Hand School for Boys during the first grits cook-off sponsored by Albers, a company that sells the stuff dried, in a box. Winner was Williams, for her Grits Cornbread, while her rivals demonstrated a culinary imagination that elevated humble crumbly white corn to four-star status. Among variations: grits quiche, pie, stuffing, cookies . . .

“It’s one of those dishes passed on through generations, originating in the South,” said Carol Hall, contest organizer. “My mother was from North Carolina. We had grits for breakfast: plain, with butter, or for a treat, with brown sugar, raisins, cream. I like it better than, say, Cream of Wheat because it has more texture, more personality. My aunt lives out here now--she’s in her ‘80s--and a real treat even now is to go to her house and eat her famous Grits Souffle . . . “

“I’m from Virginia, a family of 12,” winner Williams said. “We never threw away leftovers, just cooked them up. I make ‘French fries’ out of leftover grits. Put the grits in the fridge overnight, slice it, deep-fry it in egg batter.

“Grits tasteless? Depends on how you prepare it. If you’d taste some of mine you’d love it!”

You Can Sing Along With the Best of All Possible Pets

Back in the old days, the very old days, only royalty could own a llama. Today, you could be the first kid on your block. . . .

No, they won’t sit on your lap, but they won’t chomp on your finger, either. (Llamas have no upper teeth.) Not only will they tolerate affection but they will join in, most of the time. They like kids, eat little (compared to, say, your garden-variety pony), and will keep your lawn mowed for free.

“They don’t spook,” says Adrienne Hochee, who raises them in Devore. “They don’t run off; they’ll carry up to one-third their own weight--including children; they’ll pull carts; they love to be hugged, and they’d be great to go caroling with: They’d hum right along.”

The llama, in short is the ideal family pet, says Hochee, who’s admittedly biased by virtue of running a ranch called Las Llamas, along with husband, Vic. OK, they’re not cheap. But neither is a power mower--and when’s the last time you were nuzzled by your Toro? Prices start at $1,000 for a male pet 6 months old, “but it’s more for back-packers or wool bearers, and you could go up to $100,000 if you want top-quality breeding and show stock.”

Lest the llama be compared with Al Capp’s shmoo, the beast that was all things to all people, Hochee admits with a soupcon of reluctance that “llamas spit. Of course, they have to be provoked--really, really angry--but there you are.

“Mostly, though, they hum. They really do. Especially to people they know, and are fond of.”

Omni Presence at the Mission Inn

The Mission Inn, the late Frank Miller’s personal turn-of-the-century fantasia that metamorphosed into the cynosure of Riverside, still hasn’t reopened. New target date is Dec. 8. Or 15. Or 22. Whatever, it’s going to be a big day for the city, currently deep into a 4-month festival centering around the many-splendored hostelry in which Teddy Roosevelt slept, the Nixons married and the Reagans honeymooned.

Landscaping has not been completed, and Luis Barrios, general manager of the inn--recently purchased and restored by the Carley Capital Group as part of its Omni chain--has dithered over the date. Riverside Press-Enterprise columnist Dan Bernstein, though, calls the huge undertaking “Mission Inn Possible.” Bernstein carps, however, over Omni’s sundering of tradition, which is what the inn was about in the first place.

The bridal suite is no longer the bridal suite, he laments, now sporting more “corporate/biz trappings--ideal for couples who sign pre-nuptial agreements.” The Glenwood Tavern (original name of the inn) is now a banquet room for private functions. The Spanish Dining Room, Bernstein reports, is an all-purpose restaurant, and not even Mexican in flavor.

The inn, once the most-photographed building in California, has long since been declared a National Historic Monument. The Carley Group has spent about $40 million to restore it. The napkins and towels, Bernstein reports, will read “Omni.” Sic transit.