I’ve always enjoyed history, as knowing history helps explain why things are as they are. In the case of the word “Yankee,” I found its etymology to have many different historical possibilities. The possibility which made the most sense to me is the word deriving from the Flemings and Danes referring to the cheese-making Dutch, mockingly, as “Jan Kaas” or what would be “John Cheese” in English. From there, the early English settlers in the melting pot of New Amsterdam, before the English eventually overwhelmed the Dutch and renamed it New York, picked up on this derisive Dutch nickname which gradually phonetically morphed into Yankee, as “J” is pronounced as “Y” by the Dutch. Nonetheless, this mocking moniker led to the lyrics for “Yankee Doodle Dandy” being written by a British doctor in 1755, to a familiar tune at the time, to ridicule early American colonists, Dutch or otherwise, who were viewed as unsophisticated, crude, and worse by the class-conscious English.
As the term made its way to the American Southern colonies, as tensions between the North and the South grew, it maintained its value as a derisive reference on a sliding scale. On one end, it can be used without apparent rancor and with humor when referring to anyone from the North, but can take on a much more sinister meaning in other contexts. As I was jokingly told on one of my visits to the South, the difference between a Yankee and a damn Yankee is a Yankee goes to the South to visit and a damn Yankee stays. Of course, Yankee can take on its own heated connotation in New England if you’re a fan of the Boston Red Sox.
During a visit to my in-laws in the Florida panhandle, my wife’s family was having an extended family get-together in which some members had not met each other before. Everyone was given a nametag and asked to write their name and to which branch of the family tree they belonged. Being a wise guy, I wrote my name and “Token Yankee” on the sticker, due to the fact I was a family member by marriage only and had determined I was the only born-and-bred Yankee with no Southern heritage among the 50 or so who had made the gathering. One of my wife’s nephews saw what I was writing, looked at me as if I were insane, and asked whether I really wanted to write that. I assured him I had learned by that point in my visits to the South, it was best to own my Yankeeness.
By taking this stance, I usually created a degree of incredulous sympathy from some of my wife’s more staunchly Southern relatives because I was crazy enough to actually admit I was a Yankee. In fact, in all my visits to the South, I mostly became accepted as some sort of credit to my region in much the same way Joe Louis used to be referred to as a credit to his race. It was as if to say, nice guy, too bad he carries that stigma.
In the case of an iconic regional recipe, such as shrimp and grits, a recipe’s origin can be even more imprecise than the etymology of Yankee. Various regions in the South claim their version of the dish as the authentic recipe and far superior to anywhere else. As happens with comforting recipes originating in mama’s kitchen, people can get downright emotional about their recipes. Because I’m fool enough to own my Yankeeness in the South and with no strong affiliation to any region, being born and bred in New Jersey and living in various parts of New England for most of the last 50 years, I forge ahead with the qualification that the recipe I’m including is a Yankee’s version of a Southern classic.
The first time I had shrimp and grits was in the ’90s in Tallahassee while this Yankee was visiting my in-laws at the time and I loved it. It was around the time that traditional Southern dishes were beginning to make their way onto menus of Southern white tablecloth restaurants. It’s one of those dishes I’ve kept in my tasting memory with the hope of recreating a version at some point. The snow-white grits were creamy and cheesy, and served as a base for shrimp fresh from the Gulf. The shrimp were smoky and spicy, in a brick-colored, light, buttery gravy with bits of thickly sliced bacon, diced bell pepper, some sort of cajun spice blend, and a healthy amount of garlic. I’ve no illusions of being able to recreate an authentic version of that dish, as so often context and ingredient availability have as much to do with a dish’s success as anything else. The type of pan used can make a difference, for goodness sake!
From what I’ve been able to discern from my search into the history of the dish, it was originally consumed as breakfast by early inhabitants of the South. The ground cornmeal or hominy grits were filling and the plentiful shrimp from the brackish waters of the Southern Lowcountry provided protein. In Erin Byers Murray’s excellent article, she reports that James Beard award-winning food historian Michael Twitty insists the dish has its roots in Mozambique. Other sources describe grits being introduced to early European and African-American inhabitants of the American South by the Muskogee Native American tribe. Be that as it may, the dish has evolved greatly from its humble beginnings.
To my fellow Yankees whose knowledge of grits may be limited to their reference in “My Cousin Vinny,” I’ve found they’re an excellent vehicle for spicy shrimp or poached eggs. However, I was never able to get my New England born and bred partner, the Lovely Lois, to agree until recently. The breakthrough came when I started using Professor Torbert’s Orange Corn Grits and cooked them in half milk and half water. I found this brand on Amazon as, like so many of us, I’ve increased my online food shopping during the pandemic.
The good professor touts the fact that his grits are non-GMO and more nutritionally beneficial than other grits, primarily due to his corn’s naturally bred bright orange coloring, which possesses higher levels of antioxidant-rich carotenoids. In this generally grits-free zone of New England, there are few choices in the supermarkets. Quick grits don’t pass muster in our Yankee household, nor for any self-respecting Southerner, as Fred Gwynn firmly stated playing the judge in “My Cousin Vinny.” Bob’s Red Mill Yellow Corn Grits/Polenta is an alternative found sporadically in supermarkets in this region.
So, what’s the difference between hominy grits and the grits I just described? The difference lies not only in the variety of the corn used, but the process the dried corn goes through. All grits are ground dried corn, but the dried corn used for hominy grits are treated with an alkali (historically sodium hydroxide aka lye) in a process called nixtamalization which, along with some chemical changes in the corn, removes its outer hull and germ. The process is the same one used on the dried corn used to produce masa harina, the cornmeal used for tortillas.
Dried corn to create hominy was originally treated, by Native Americans, with lime produced from wood ash and water to lengthen its shelf life, as the nixtamalization process removes the corn’s germ, which keeps it from sprouting. It would then be rinsed thoroughly to make hominy grits or masa harina, a chemical process similar to one we use today in a more controlled environment. Hominy or masa harina and untreated cornmeal not only have different culinary uses and properties, but the nixtamalized version allows for greater absorption of niacin by the body and has a greater percentage of beneficial vitamins and minerals.
When it’s all said and done, the difference in this Yankee household is that the grits I’m making now are creamier, have a nice nutty flavor and, most importantly, Lois the New England Yankee likes them.
Yankee Shrimp and Grits
(Serves 4)
As far as shrimp are concerned, we don’t have access to shrimp fresh from the Gulf, but there are some good frozen wild-caught shrimp to be found. I’ve found very good wild-caught Argentinian red shrimp at my local Market 32, Guido’s always has excellent shrimp, and the shrimp I used for this recipe were delivered from Berkshire Organics.
Other brands of grits can be used, but Professor Torbert’s was the breakthrough brand for us. If using other brands, I still suggest using half milk, as it makes for creamier grits, and then follow cooking instructions for your brand.
Ingredients:
1 lb. peeled and deveined shrimp
Approx. 3 Tbl favorite Cajun seasoning
1 cups grits
2 cups water
2 cups whole milk
1 tsp salt
7 Tbl butter, cut into tablespoons
4 slices thickly cut bacon, cut into ¼-inch batons
1 cup each green bell pepper, red bell pepper, and onion cut into ¼-inch dice
1 Tbl minced garlic
1 cup grated cheddar cheese
¼ cup dry white wine
½ lemon
½ cup roughly chopped flat leaf parsley
4 scallions, sliced thinly
Hot sauce to be served on the side
Method:
Dry the shrimp between paper towels and coat with Cajun seasoning. Bring milk, water, and 1 tsp salt to a boil over medium heat.
Turn the milk and water mixture to low and whisk in the grits. Continue to whisk for about 45 seconds. Cover the pan and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thick. Set aside and keep warm.
Meanwhile, cook the batons of bacon in 1 Tbl butter in a 12-inch cast-iron pan or equivalent over medium heat, stirring frequently, until crisp. Remove the bacon to a paper-towel-lined pan and reserve approximately 2-3 Tbl of the fat in the pan, discarding the rest.
Add shrimp to the hot pan and cook approximately 1 minute on each side, turning as each side just turns pink. Reserve the shrimp to a plate. The shrimp will finish cooking when added back to the pan.
Add diced onions to the pan and sauté for a minute or two, until they begin to turn clear, then add diced bell peppers and minced garlic and sauté for a minute or two longer ,or until they begin to soften.
Meanwhile, stir 3 Tbl butter and cheddar cheese into the warm grits and re-cover the pan.
Add white wine and lemon juice to the pan with the onion and peppers, and reduce by about half. Add the reserved shrimp and bacon, and the remaining 3 Tbl butter to the pan and stir constantly until the butter is fully incorporated, the shrimp are fully cooked, and the gravy has thickened somewhat. Add the chopped parsley and scallions, and stir until everything is fully blended.
Adjust the seasoning and spoon the shrimp mixture over the cheesy grits in a shallow bowl.
