I have to say that I am a fan of my fellow blogger Marisa's writing. My good friend Risa (short for Marisa as well), absolutely gushes over some of the things Marisa writes as well, and feels that they must be kindred spirits. Anyway, Marisa just wrote about the joy of hot, buttered, corn on the cob. I love corn as well. A Lot. And so this sparked my interest and got me thinking about the delight of corn and how we eat it.
Hot, buttered, corn on the cob used to be one of my favorites, but something happened that changed me forever. There is a local farm stand here in mid-coast Maine called Beth's, and Beth sells some of the sweetest corn I have ever had. What is even better is that it is picked fresh every morning, is still cool from the night air, and often has juice dripping from the broken end of the cob. It's that fresh.
One summer morning years ago, I drove to the farm and waited anxiously for them to open at 8am, so I could load up on corn before they sold out for the day. I was in my car, about to head back to the lakeside cottage we rented for the summer, and decided to first take a look at the corn. I pulled back the firm leaves and silk and saw this super ripe and fresh corn and stuck my thumb into the firm, crisp kernels. They suddenly popped, splashing me with the juice. I stuck my thumb in my mouth to taste it, and it was sublime. As sweet as candy and full of corny good flavor.
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