I heart this pic of Al. Let it be said that I might need a Bubby's intervention to be staged, A&E style. Their crusty* cheese grits are the bees knees, and have become a weekend necessity. As a southerner, it's next to impossible to find a yankee shack that can serve them up right.
*under normal circumstances, I would refuse to use that word. That's just how good these grits are. Although I've warmed up to my friend Anne's new descriptive noun for feeling unattractive: crust-bucket. Which we occasionally sing to the tune of "Hot Pockets" when we're hungover. I'll stop rambling now.