Corn

There are few foods on this earth, which, with such minimal added seasoning, are as delectable and satisfying as corn on the cob. I remember summers when Mom would spend a good half-hour at the farm market, taking care to select the freshest, meatiest ears of shining yellow-white corn. She always cooked it the same day she bought it—I used to think she did it to preserve the flavor, but probably it was because she couldn’t wait to eat it any more than the rest of us could. The corn was always the grand finale of the meal; we would wolf down hamburgers, salad, potatoes, then sit there impatiently, awaiting the golden goodness that still simmered in the pot on the stove. The aroma seduced our taste buds, causing everything that was already in our stomachs to slide over and make room for more.

Finally, it was ready. Mom would place an ear on my plate and I’d watch as the frothy butter oozed into crevices between the rows of succulent kernels. They looked like tough little creamy bubbles, ready to burst open with the slightest prick with the tines of your fork. I’d grip the plastic corn-holders at each end and gently bathe it in the pool of butter that was already collecting in my plate. The first bite was an instant explosion of flavor—it sent my tastebuds into orgasmic bliss. The mild sweetness oozed down my chin, and I could almost hear the thousands of tiny popping sounds echoing in the cavern of my mouth. It tasted like pure sunshine.

Sometimes, instead of simmering, Dad would roast it next to the meat on the grill. Then the kernels were slightly charred on the outside, yet still tender and meaty on the inside. The barbecue gave it a smoky flavor which contrasted nicely with its sweetness. Sprinkled lightly with salt, it was tasty as ever. You didn’t even need butter.

Despite the fact that its preparation was hardly exotic, corn on the cob always seemed such a big deal. The hassle of trips to the farmer’s market, the tedious removal of husks, the scrubbing, and the weight of the iron pot bubbling on the stove added to my mother’s general displeasure in serving it. Corn on the cob was never a weekly feature in my house. When I think about it, I could probably count the number of times we ate it. But then again, maybe that’s why it always tasted so good.

-Dina, ‘92 (College Essay)

Website designed and managed by Wordfeeder Copywriting and Marketing.

cooking with my friends dot com