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Are there any sights, sounds, and smells more
evocative of a Midwest summer than those of fresh corn on the cob waiting
to be shucked? The leaves are still crisp and green; the aroma’s
corny and delicious; the husks squeak when they’re ripped away to
reveal the tender kernels. For anyone who’s ever grown and picked it,
sweet corn evokes other sensory sensations as well. The densely planted
corn shuts out any possibility of a cooling breeze to counter the blazing
sun and thick, humid air. In my youth, the corn rows seemed to
claustrophobically enclose me as I trudged down the narrow aisles with an
increasingly heavy bushel basket and an increasingly aching back, that
green-corn aroma mixing with the smell of the sweat that trickled from my
forehead into my eyes and slithered down the back of my neck. The stiff
dark-green corn leaves on the stalks could leave a welter of scratches, so
long-sleeved shirts were mandatory, but hands and face were still
vulnerable. Then there was the frustration. Sweet corn was the
biggest, most important crop we grew at our produce farm. When the sweet
corn was on, folks who normally wouldn’t stop were lured in by the
promise of the just-picked corn and bought other vegetables as well. My
grandfather planted successive patches of sweet corn so that we’d
have it as continuously as possible throughout the summer, but every so
often his careful planning would be ruined by his archenemies, the
raccoons. “The corn’ll be ready to pick
tomorrow,” he’d cheerfully announce at supper. “It looks
beautiful. Be sure to put the sign out front.” The next morning
he’d walk down to the field, then back up to the house, shoulders
slumped dejectedly: “ Those #&$% coons showed up again. Better
take the sign down.” It wouldn’t have been so bad if
they’d taken a couple dozen ears. In fact, I think my grandfather
would gladly have given that much to them. The problem was that the
raccoons — which always waited until the day the corn was at its prime — would
move down the rows and take one bite out of each ear, ruining an entire
field. Anyone who’s ever seen Bill Murray battle the gopher in the
movie Caddyshack will
have an idea of the unending war my grandfather waged against the raccoons.
At various times he tried electric fencing, an army of transistor radios
placed strategically in the fields that blared throughout the night and
kept us all awake, bright lights, and even an occasional nighttime vigil
with a shotgun. Some of his strategies would work for a while, but it never
took long for the clever raccoons to catch on. Conventional wisdom used to hold that sweet corn was
at its best when it was just picked and very young, because younger sweet
corn had a higher sugar content and, once an ear is picked, the sugars
rapidly converted to starch. In fact, we used to put the water on to boil
before going out to pick corn for supper so that it would be only minutes
from stalk to pot. Though some people still follow those guidelines, the
introduction of the supersweet varieties first developed by University of
Illinois by botany professor John Laughnan in the 1950s rendered them
unnecessary. Those U. of I. hybrids and their descendants incorporated a
mutant gene that slowed the conversion of sugars to starch, so it’s
no longer necessary to cook corn as soon as it’s picked for maximum
sweetness. These days I prefer supersweet corn that’s more mature;
very young ears are almost too sweet and haven’t yet developed their
maximum corn flavor. Boiling or steaming is still probably the favorite
way to enjoy fresh corn on the cob, but in my family we’ve become
equally fond of preparing corn on the grill. Grilling sweet corn
caramelizes its sugars and enhances that corny flavor, but if not done
properly it can produce kernels that are tough and dry. My grillmeister
husband offers these tips for corn that stays tender and toothsome: Pull out as much of the silk from the top of the
unshucked sweet corn as possible. Soak unshucked corn in cold water for at
least 10 minutes. Place the still-unshucked corn over hot coals and grill
it for 10 to 15 minutes, turning so that it’s grilled evenly. The
outer husks will become charred and blackened, but the corn inside will
essentially be steamed. Let the corn cool until you can handle it easily.
You can then either remove the husks and silk completely or pull the husks
back, remove the silk, and tie the husks midway with string to make a
handle to hold while eating the corn. Brush the corn very lightly with oil
or butter and return it to the grill (keeping the husk handle, if you are
using one, away from the hot part of the grill) for a few minutes, turning
frequently, until the kernels just begin to brown and caramelize. My family usually enjoys our first corn on the cob of
the season as simply as possible, perhaps with a little butter and salt or
even without any adornment whatsoever. As the season continues, however, we
like to experiment with new variations or re-create variations we’ve
enjoyed in the past. Perhaps someday we’ll find a corn-on-the-cob
treatment we enjoy as much as elote asado, but somehow I doubt it. This traditional specialty can be
found in practically any Mexican town, as well as in Mexican enclaves in
American cities. In the Little Village neighborhood in Chicago, elote carts can be seen on
almost every street corner in the summer. In Mexico, the pit-roasted ears
are field corn, but here in the United States sweet corn (the older the
better) is the norm. Whether the corn is boiled, roasted, or grilled, the
garnishes are the same: First the cooked ears of corn are slathered with
mayonnaise or crema fresca (similar to sour cream, an acceptable substitute). Mayonnaise is
most commonly used on the street carts, but I prefer crema fresca or sour cream, which is
lighter and less oily. Then the coated ears are rolled in crumbled queso fresco (fresh cheese), queso anejo (aged cheese), or
an equivalent such as Parmesan, feta, or farmer cheese and, finally,
sprinkled with chile powder. Admittedly, it’s not a diet dish, but it is
sublime: undoubtedly a food of long-lost Aztec and Mayan gods and something
worth experiencing at least once every Midwestern summer.
Send questions and comments to Julianne Glatz at
realcuisine@insightbb.com.
This article appears in Jul 26 – Aug 1, 2007.
