“… Ever since my early twenties when I smoked my first good cigar, I have felt that if there were no other reason to believe in God, Havana leaf would suffice. I’ve had similar epiphanies while biting into a ripe peach, a just-ready piece of Crenshaw melon or a great ear of corn.”
Amen, Norman Lear.
I love everything about it.
I love sitting on the stoop to shuck it, the glow and random coloring of the peaches and cream nuggets, and the crack of the fresh kernels exploding in my mouth. I love that eating it makes me feel like I’m 8-years old again, running up the dock at the cottage in my favorite yellow flip-flops. I love the universal agreement on the typewriter attack strategy. And I love that it forces me to floss.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s fond of it.
Margaret Visser, an anthropologist of everyday life and author of one of our favorite books on food, writes “American Indians, in their many different languages, always spoke of corn as ‘Our Mother,’ ‘Our Life,’ and ‘She Who Sustains Us.'”
We always speak of corn as “Get out here while it’s hot!”
Good gravy, what I wouldn’t give for one of these puppies right now.
Served with a side of grilled chicken and chilled Pinot Grigio, well now, that’s why God made the south porch. And butter and salt. And napkins.
Corn On the Cob
Allow 1 to 3 ears per person, depending on appetites. If cooking for Rick, think “4 with a slight chance of leftovers.”
Remove the husks and silk from farm-fresh corn. Drop them one a time into a large pot of rapidly boiling water.
Cover and cook until hot and tender, 2 to 8 minutes depending on maturity. (This refers to how fresh the corn is, not whether or not you holler “Nanny nanny boo boo!” as you drop them in the water.) The fresher the corn, the less cooking time it needs.
Remove from the water with tongs. Serve with Kosher salt, cracked black pepper and butter, and get on it while it’s hot!