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Shrimp and Grits at Crook’s Corner
A perspective from Chris Forrest
The Chapel Hill restaurant, Crook’s Corner, stood for nearly forty years as, what The New York Times called, “sacred ground for southern foodies.” I had the great privilege of working there (2005-2006) while I was in school at UNC. I have found myself grieving these last few days— trying to recall and store all the wonderful memories I made there. I bused tables and waited on diners. I celebrated my graduation, birthdays, the births of my own children, and the simple occasions of being in town with Crook’s Corner’s inimitable food, made so by everything that establishment and community has come to mean to me.
I wavered on whether or not I was worthy to write this letter, to unofficially represent Crook’s this way. Then I read a post by Sallie Baskervill, another Crook’s alum. Concerning its closing, she wrote, “It was my education, my college, my coming of age. It’s where I learned about people, that humans are complicated, that life is complicated… It’s where I learned to have my own thoughts and opinions… It’s where I learned about music, real music, good music. It’s where I learned that some of the best friends can be the most unexpected. It’s where I learned who I was and who I wanted to be.”
I thought, Me too! And I knew that it was all of those things for so many. So, any of us that were blessed enough to have Crook’s weave its way into our life should be the ones to recognize the gifts we received within those walls and all the ones that followed us out.
I am now Poetry Editor for a small press in North Carolina, and I know that Crook’s Corner nurtured in me a passion for art and the written word that I seemed otherwise determined to snuff out. Since hearing about its closing, I’ve returned to Bill Smith’s tremendous book, Seasoned in the South, and couldn’t help jotting out responses that the recipes recalled. Though not in the book, they are so inextricable that I couldn’t stay away from Shrimp and Grits. I’ll let this poem, clunky as it is, serve as “Thank you” and “Goodbye,” and hope that if you didn’t know Crook’s Corner, this will offer a little glimpse.
Shrimp and Grits
For Crook’s Corner 1982-2021
It is an exercise in memory, dining
by bamboo, concrete underfoot, fountain water
running, green tables with simple syrup and tabasco.
I’m on the patio in this one.
And it comes: shrimp, bacon, mushrooms, scallions
on cheesy grits. But it’s more complicated
than that and I realize that I must be the shrimp
because I’m not as good when I’m lonely.
But I’m the bacon too, I think, because I really try
to make things better, and my metaphors are mixing
since I know I’m the mushrooms, because I don’t like them
all the time. Surely, then, I’m the scallions
because the recipe says to use the green parts too
and there’s so much I still need to figure out.
And maybe I’m the grits, or a grit, and so are you
and whatever on earth is better than we are
is the cheese. To eat is what gestalt means.
And Shrimp and Grits is also the checkered
bar top and the recessed pig’s head in the bathroom
and the chef’s greeting with an off-menu PBR
and the writer that found you your seat
and the woodworker serving your food
and the musician clearing your plate
and the gardener making sure you have everything
you need. This is also the pain of gestalt—
we can cook up shrimp and bed the grits,
we can eat them all we’d like,
but we’ll never have them again.
“Viewpoints” on Chapelboro is a recurring series of community-submitted opinion columns. All thoughts, ideas, opinions and expressions in this series are those of the author, and do not reflect the work or reporting of 97.9 The Hill and Chapelboro.com.
