Also, bland. For this I blame Louis's slapdash recipe-writing. I'm convinced that the qualities that make a great, intuitive chef do not overlap with those that make a great cookbook author.
Just looking at Louis's image on the cover of his book -- fat, beaming, and holding heaping platters of biscuits and something yummy-looking with bones -- I can tell he's not the kind of man to obsessively pore over a notebook worrying about teaspoons of salt and pepper.
I served the bland grits with the last of the preserved duck. This is how much duck Louis suggests serving eight people:
Fortunately I was only serving three people, so there was almost enough.
Per the excellent suggestion of Layne, I also made Louis's fried green tomatoes. "Crispy-on-the-outside" -- and tart and juicy on the inside. Fantastic.
A few weeks ago I decided I would no longer fight about food with Owen. So when he set up a howl at the prospect of the meal described above, I shut him down by saying he could fix himself whatever he wanted. . . .
Am I on the right path here? Is he ever going to come around on his own? Is he going to end up with scurvy or rickets or something?