I've promoted grits in my kitchen to "foodstuffs with itstheir own special case."
I never tried grits until a few years ago -- at a Southern-ish diner in Seattle, for what it's worth -- but immediately liked itthem. True, I never had it them beforehand, even when I lived near the South. (I clarify, as I've done before: I lived in Virginia Beach, which feels more influenced by the military than by Southern culture, and Northern Virginia, which with D.C. and the Maryland suburbs feels like its own little state. I've clarified.) But I'm only one person, wanting to keep my just-add-water-and-boil grits fresh, so for a while I was storing itthem in a repurposed pickle jar. Two problems: 1) the jar wasn't big enough for the whole 40-ounce box of grits, so I'd pour most of the grits into the jar and first use what was left in the box, and 2) the jar's lid didn't want to twist on enough to make me feel safe handling it. If it fell, that'd be a lot of glass and grits to clean.
A snap-shut clear plastic container (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH TUPPERWARE OR RUBBERMAID OR ANY OTHER COPYRIGHTED TERM FOR THIS KIND OF CONTAINER) is now in a prominent place in my kitchen, and it is about half-full of what, when cooked, will become grits. I feel safer in my food prep. (Breaking plastic is really hard to do.)
Also I've cleaned more of my kitchen stuff than I'd cleaned for a bit, so it's even more orderly in there than usual. I feel accomplished.
Tonight, eat well! And hey, that could include GRITS...
7:42 p.m. edit: I did! Chicken breast cut into strips with onions and green peppers, all sauteed in Secret Aardvark's black bean sauce, and grits are now in my stomach, turning from food to fuel. You know more now.