I love corn on the cob.
I despise buying corn of the cob at the grocery store.
OK, so nobody wants to buy rotten corn. I hear that. But once you tear the husk open a tiny bit, you can predict with pretty good certainty whether that cob is good, bad, or ugly. And yet people--seemingly normal people--feel the need to rip all the husks off in the store to determine that every square milimetre of the corn is good. Like the $0.30 per cob (or whatever it is these days) is a ridiculous amount of money if that cob has even one kernel that isn't at its peak. Or like putting the effort into eating around a kernel at dinner might spoil the entire food experience.
And so now I feel strangely guilty buying corn, even though I'm not one of the crazy people (well, at least not one of the crazy corn-buying people). I feel badly because there's always some poor sucker employee who seems to be tied to a stake in the corn area by an invisible rope, poised with implements to clean up the inevitable corn detritus. I can't help but think what that poor person must do when he or she leaves work and tries to go to his or her happy place, wherever that might be, and inevitably some random cob of corn pops up. Tonight at the grocery store, I felt the need to say to the poor guy, "At least it's seasonal here." He didn't look as if he could summon up the strength (or the sanity?) to reply.
Monday, June 16, 2008
the (corn) horror, the horror
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3 comments:
A couple of observations here!
1.) Sometimes, I am a 'grazer.' Yes, I work my way through a g'store helping myself to anything that is displayed bulk. Strawberries, grapes, cherries - not banana's or anything requiring two bites though - and have been like this since I watched 'Oliver Twist' as a small child.
2.) Corn. Now, being English and marrying a Appalachian (raised in Boca Raton, Fl since two) there was bound to be cultural differences; (go figure) part of that getting to know one another after we said the 'better or worse' bit in front of God, and a crowd of well dressed (if not behaved) people.
She turned out to be a 'stalk' person (me, a root) and this became operant during the early 'Corn Wars.'
I enjoy corn like the next man; but I have my limit. Grilled corn, corn on the cob, canned corn, corn bread, corn flakes; frittered, souped, saladed, ground, juiced, steamed and ‘gritted’, enough damnit was enough afterall.
The final straw and flashpoint for my insurrection against the Maize Goddess was the ‘popped corn.’ This staple of her upbringing (and American heritage) was a foul smelling distraction to movie watching in mine, and is not a healthy snack - alternative perhaps, but will never replace 'goobers.' Mmmmm, chocolate wrapped root.
Today, I share her affections with Mr. Orville Reddenbacher during our rare movie time, and am none the worst, as long as the overhead fan is spinning – have not developed ‘bucked teeth’ either which was a justifiable early concern, I think.
For words, emory: high fructose corn syrup. How did that cultural adaptation go?
well, that crap is in everything, and is everyhere.
You really have to read product ingredients.
Then we wonder why morbid obesity, and diabetes is at an all time high.
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