Cranky Corn

What You Need To Get:

Corn on the Cob

Salt and Pepper

Paprika (optional)

I live in a corn growing state.

Even though this is an unending source of shame to me I have learned to embrace it. I endure the statues of cows erected in the cities I live in. I don't wince at the poor little half breeds that are named "Fairest of the Fair". I refuse to get sick when I smell liquid manure, even when I'm hung over. And I embrace, in all its sloppy glory, corn-on-the-cob.

What people need to know about corn-on-the-cob is that its all about getting dirty. Its all about getting right into the thick of things and putting your mouth all over it. Corn is like putting nasty, dirty things all over something from the salt of the earth and getting jiggy with it. So yeah, corn-on-the-cob is lot like sex. That's why people like it. People are nasty.

As for me, I'm Angry. But I still believe in good ingredients for this recipe. Only the best (and cheapest) will do. So I got in my Ford Escort last Sunday and headed out of the city to the first small town with a general store and antique mall that I could find.

You have to travel outside an urban area if you want to find good corn. Please don't continue reading this if you have gone to Cub Foods or Walgreens or some other fucking conglomerate for produce. You're wasting everyones' time. If you can't travel out of town, at the very least, shop a local farmers' market.

I sound like a hippie. God damn...

Anyways, I found a roadside stand, manned by two very awkward teenagers who presented me with freshly picked, gigantic ears of corn for just a few bucks a pound. I looked them over (no bugs, if you see bugs run away quickly), and decided the green husks and ripe corn beneath looked okay. They told me the price.

Never, ever, ever accept the initial price of corn from someone selling it on the side of the road. You can always knock them down a few bucks. They're selling stuff on the SIDE OF THE ROAD for God's sake. The last time they did that they were probably hawking pestilent lemonade.

Once a deal has been reached I bring back my corn to meet my sous-Angry Chef Tulip at my pad.

My sous-Angry Chef Tulip had prepared my small Coleman grill so that was hot, but not too hot. That means she fired up the coals and then left the vent holes on the grill closed. CLOSED. Do not fuck this up.

Meanwhile, I grabbed a stick of butter (or margarine, if you're a pussy) and melted it in a small pan. When it was all liquid I peeled back the husks (carefully, DON'T peel them off) and used a small paintbrush that I snagged from the local hardware store to "paint" the butter on to the exposed corn.

Tulip was telling me this whole thing was stupid. She said that all you have to do to make corn was to boil it. And she's right. You can make corn that way. But I reminded her that my way was better, and fuck everyone else.

After I "painted" the corn I sprinkled it with equal parts salt, pepper and paprika. You can skip the paprika, but I will think you're a jerk and challenge you to a fight the next time I see you. I rolled the husks back up, and threw all the corn on the grill.

Then I sat back and listened to the lulling sounds of industrial farming going on all around me.

I turned the corn every five minutes or so, leaving it on the grill for about fifteen minutes. Just until it had some decent char marks. Midwestern produce doesn't get interesting until it looks angry.

When we ate it, I had to remind my sous-Angry Chef Tulip that the whole secret to enjoying corn-on-the-cob was to be dirty.

"Slather it with more butter," I told her. "Sprinkle it with salt!" "Bite into it like a caveman would!" Forget about the shit caught in your teeth!" "Use your jaw to clean off the extra bits!" And we shared a little bit of an unprofessional culinary moment over twelve husks of dessicated corn.

The Angry Chef's face was all gloppy with butter and salt. I was completely full and had a strange feeling around my chest, like it was full too. Tulip looked very content lying back in her chair and grinning at me.

And I thought, this must be why people come here. Dirty food like this must be why people come to the Midwest.

Otherwise, its just a vast, fucking wasteland. Nasty.