As I mentioned, I spent last week at the Jersey shore. That meant a great many things: surf, sun, sand, sibling mini golf throwdown, the Avalon Freeze, Back Bay Crabcakes and CORN. Lots of corn.
We ate the stuff every night, boiled for a few short minutes and then rolled on a stick of butter designated solely for corn rollin'. I also made my famous corn salad. (Ears are grilled in the husk, kernels are removed and tossed with black beans, chopped tomatoes, red onion, cilantro, loads of fresh citrus and an audacious amount of avocado; its always a hit.)
For me, Jersey corn—bought by the dozen at Clinton Conover Farmstand—is synonymous with summer. So, I can relate to Roger Sherman's musings from The Atlantic:
I've been eating Long Island corn for 20 summers and I've never tasted anything better. Corn season used to be an eating contest. We'd buy from a different farm stand each day and debate which was best: Silver Queen, bi-color, Butter and Sugar. "Bistrian's is always the finest, though they slipped for a year or two." "No, it's Round Swamp." "Hardscrabble, no question about it, they only sell what they grow themselves."
He goes on to mourn the over-sweetening of contemporary corn, but his joy at arriving at this special season still resonates.