How the Woolworth’s lunch counter gave me a lifetime love of grits

My southern roots came knocking this morning – and they were calling for grits.

Grits make me think of home, even though my New York-transplanted Jewish mother never made them in our Virginia house. Although she adopted southern traditions like black-eyed peas on New Year’s Eve, our Sunday scrambled eggs remained accompanied by bagels and cream cheese – and lox on special occasions.

It was at a lunch counter in Woolworth’s, the summer after I graduated from high school, that I became...