At a hole in the wall diner by Ga Tech (Juniors, RIP), there were a couple of old guys who had worked there for decades. They were hysterical. Every fall, part of the influx of newbies to the university was of course people not from the south. between eating there a lot and working there for a quarter or two, I was present for many conversations like the following:
Newbie Customer

rushed, NYC voice) "Grits?What's grits?I neverdheard of grits?Can I try just one?"
Earl: (exaggerated drawl) "Why, sho-orre." (Moseys from the counter back to the food prep area where he does something the customer can't see. Returns.) "Here ya go. let me know what you think." (Sets down a plate with a single "grit"- perhaps 1/8" across- in the middle. Goes to wait on another customer.)
NC: (shocked look) "WhatTheHellIsThis?!?What'sThisLittleThing?"
Earl: (hurt look) "Well, you asked for 'a grit'. That's 'a grit'. Nobody with any sense eats just 'a grit', but at least it's on the house. Can't put less than a penny in the register."
NC: (starts to freak out, but some combination of his friends/regulars usually get him to laugh at the situation and try grits.)
One guy did ask for knife. He quartered it, and tried each almost invisible bit with something different- butter, syrup, ketchup, and (I think) plain. he sipped whatever he was drinking between bites "to cleanse the palette". He then ordered eggs with grits and cleaned his plate. he tipped extra. He became a very popular regular.
I told Tommy (the owner) he should keep persimmon slices on hand just for this question. He liked the idea, but he liked repeat customers even better.