By Shannon Hurst Lane

The first time I traveled north of the Mason Dixon line, I was 17. I was headed for Washington, DC for the National High School Honor Band to compete with high school seniors from across the United States.

One morning a group of us went in search of breakfast in our nation’s capitol. When asked for my order I automatically replied, “Grits.”

“What’s a grit?” the North Dakota contingency inquired. That was the moment I realized that I wasn’t in Kansas, anymore (or in my case, Louisiana). Alas, grits were no where to be found. So I have made it my mission in life to educate the world on southern food, and more importantly, grits.

Grits are used in the plural form. Should you come across a singular grit, then you are likely to starve. It is an American Indian dish of coarsely ground corn, similar to polenta or farina, yet thicker. It has become a traditional food item in Southern United States and in 2002 was named as Georgia’s official food. Grits are usually served as a breakfast dish, topped with various condiments. I prefer mine with salt, pepper, butter and topped with shredded cheese. I’ve watched diners crumble bacon into their bowls and Quaker even sells flavored grits on the grocery shelves.

Fine dining restaurants have taken this traditional southern dish and turned it into something more than just a filling meal. The most common find on a menu is Low Country shrimp and grits. I’ve even noticed higher-end restaurants are replacing mashed potatoes with grits.

Now you have an idea of wht grits are – and are not. If you happen to find yourself traveling through the Southern United States and find it on the menu then go right ahead and try them.

Shannon Hurst Lane can be reached at Shannon@globalfoodie.com. You can also see her work at www.shannonlane.com.

Bavaria spatzle, Germany’s white asparagus, and Norwegien salmon are only a few of the specialties I’ve savored during the last few years. But there’s a place much closer to my New England home that brings mouthwatering joy to rivals those international delights.

Since we’ve almost hit summer, rather than book an airline ticket to a gastronomic paradise take a small road trip to your favorite farm stand. There’s no jet lag and luggage only involves shopping bags.

Wilson Farm in Lexington, Massachusetts is my particular favorite, preferred by New Englanders for more than one hundred years. It began in 1884 when two brothers from Ireland bought and farmed 16 acres there. After harvesting their crops the boys packed the produce in a horse-drawn cart and traversed suburban Boston’s winding dirt cow paths and stagecoach roads all the way to Quincy Market where they sold the fresh edibles.

Eventually they started selling from a stand in front of the Lexington farm. Four generations later the fields have more than doubled and the “stand” is now an oversized, barn filled with vegetables, hen-house eggs, dairy and cheese, freshly cut flowers and plants. They even have a 37,000-square-foot greenhouse, which insures fresh veggies all year.

Wilson’s is close, so I tend to visit regularly just to get lost in the aroma that comes from fresh vegetables plucked from rich dark soil only hours earlier. Freshly baked breads, rolls, pies, eggs and homemade jams and jellies kitchen tempt me too.

I depend on Wilson’s during the fall, winter and spring. During the summer, I go there to buy what I can’t grow. While my own garden tomatoes go from green to brilliant red I visit Wilson’s and buy what is in season and daydream over what’s to come.  Waiting for those fresh tomatoes, the fruit, and especially the corn, is agony. I dream of Wilson’s peaches, so ripe and sweet even a handful of napkins won’t stop the juice from dribbling down my arm.

I have foodie fantasies about Wilson’s rich yellow and white corn-on-the-cob, usually ready by late July. It’s best boiled for a few minutes and slathered with fresh butter and a dash of salt. Although only a few minutes, it seems like hours before the ear is cool enough to safely bite into the those lovely yellow kernels. Wilson’s ears are so fresh there is an entire kiosk dedicated to the lines of customers who, like me, yearn for the freshly picked treasures. The hefty offerings are partially shucked, its corn silk hanging over the peeking kernels like feathery babies’ bangs. It’s the stuff of family traditions. Our family sometimes boils a dozen and makes it a meal in itself. (Before putting the ears in boiling water, my mother-in-law always added a dollop of milk. I’m not sure why, but I do it too.)

It’s June, so my fresh veggie thoughts really are fantasies. I’ll have to wait at least six weeks before Wilson’s staff starts tempting corn junkies.

While I dream of Wilson’s produce why not look for a farm stand or Farmer’s Market in your local neighborhood.

Denise can be reached at: Denise@globalfoodie.com.

by Guest Writer, Michael Norton

Spring brings out the best in most people, especially after a six-month winter in Empire, a tiny Lake Michigan coastal village. Every year residents celebrate  emerging and delicate vegetables with the Empire Asparagus Festival. Garbed in glorious green asparagus-like costumes, Empireans start the two-day party by parading through the small three-block town center. This year’s festival is scheduled May 15 and 16 and promises cook offs with anything containing asparagus. Singing; dancing; athletic events; and the consumption of respectable quantities of beer and wine are also on the agenda.

After California and Washington, Michigan is the nation’s third-largest producer of commercial asparagus, netting some $29 million for the state.But that isn’t what makes Empire’s asparagus or the festival so notable. This berg’s census holds only 400 names and its asparagus production comes from one lone local farm, owned by Harry Norconk. His 240-acre operation is about two miles south of town.

Empire, so named for an ill-fated schooner that briefly served as the village school after running aground in 1865, is best known as an artsy summer resort in the heart of the Sleeping Bear Dunes – with lots of asparagus.

Every May this opportunistic vegetable’s perky green spears start showing up in fields, ditches, meadows and hillsides all over the region. That’s all it took for the citizens of Empire to devise this annual celebration. (Empireans already have a festival honoring an anchor that was recovered in 1977 from the lake bottom.)

“It’s mainly just an excuse to get out and enjoy ourselves,” said festival organizer Paul Skinner, a British expat who owns an antique store in town. “We don’t really need a big reason to have music or eat.”

But the festivities do have their earnest save-the-world side, too. Like many other communities in the fruit-growing region around Michigan’s Grand Traverse Bay, Empire is a hotbed of advocacy for small-scale local agriculture and regional cuisine. Other towns in the area celebrate cherries, wines and wild mushrooms; Empire opted for the humble asparagus.

This year’s event promises an asparagus poetry contest, a 5K “Kick Ass-paragus” Fun Run/Walk; a tour of local art galleries and studios; the making of asparagus-garnished parade hats; the annual Asparagus Parade; an afternoon concert and dance; and a massive asparagus-based food, wine and beer tasting that will include such treats as asparagus focaccia, asparagus pizza, asparagus croissants, asparagus scones, asparagus bratwurst, asparagus slaw, asparagus and morel risotto, and asparagus beer.

Yes, it’s true – asparagus beer from the too-creative-for-their-own-good brewers at Traverse City’s Right Brain Brewery.

For more information on the festival, area spring activities in the area, or for the best dining and lodging spots, contact: The Traverse City Convention and Visitor’s at: www.VisitTraverseCity.com or call them at 1-800-872-8377. (Michael Norton works for Traverse City Convention and Visitor’s Bureau.)