Jimmy Crack Corn

I’ve always been attracted to corn. God knows why. My fundamental association of corn is picking remnants of kernels out of my teeth. Always. And it was never a minor annoyance. Those bits and pieces of corn would get embedded in my gums and braces for what seemed like hours. Even the Water Pik I used back then struggled to get all that shit out of my mouth.

And yet, I love corn. Always have. As long as it’s not cooked mealy-mouthed soft, an unfortunate portent perhaps of meals to come in my dotage. Nope. This stuff has got to be al dente. Grilled. Blanched. Roasted. Boiled. Raw even. And in the case of the attached picture, pan-fried with cajun panko seasonings.

I remember what a revelation it was to leave the South for college in New England and encounter white or butter and sugar corn varietals for the first time. Wow. Really wow. I had no idea corn could be that delicate and sweet.

I remember seeing my wife eat corn raw. Now that was a huge novelty. Raw corn? Really? Delicious.

And then of course there were all the various southern dishes that started to flow out of our soul food kitchen, things like creamed corn and warm corn salsa salad.

Like a longstanding marriage or a relationship that weathers the years and decades, there’s something profoundly comforting about rubbing up against something you think you know so well, only to discover all sorts of new and interesting niches, angles, perspectives. More or less out of the blue. It’s like the history embedded in the song title, above: lots of hidden, revolutionary discoveries to be uncovered, if you only delve.