I'M ALL EARS! – Sweet Corn As If For the First Time

There are a few foods which, if you haven't tasted them really fresh—like a day 
or two after picking— you haven't tasted them at all. Among them, home grown tomatoes, apples, strawberries, and, so apropos of midsummer here in Minnesota, corn on the cob.

        

Obviously, the main attraction with corn is eating it—that sublime interplay of flavor and texture that only really fresh corn can serve up. (I like mine with a little butter and enough black pepper to make my lips smart.) M-m-m-m, I can't wait!

But wait you must; first you've got to shuck it. Like so many of life's little chores, you can look at that task as a nuisance...or you can choose to see it as an experi-
ence, a joy. I highly recommend the latter.

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KERNELS OF TRUTH
Pick up an ear of fresh sweet corn and the first thing you notice is that it's heavier than a green, leafy thing should be. I've always imagined that heavy gifts in small packages held special promise.

The next thing that strikes you are the silken tresses spilling out the tapered end in bleached yellow-green, tips perhaps tinted golden brown by summer air and sun.

The snug, slightly sand-papery leaves peel back easily one at a time; try for more and they voice their squeaky objection. Layer by layer, the green softens from dark and dry to light, tender, translucent. The 
last ply or two cling tight, conforming like shrink wrap to the pebbly texture beneath.

      Emergent kernels, near the tip, wander 
      randomly, then fall into neat rows as they 
      march smartly down the cob.

The kernels greet you cheerily, buoyantly. Slightly cool and moist, they grab the tips of your fingers like so many tiny, shiny, pale yellow balloons all squeezed together— inflated, it seems, to the point of bursting.



Emergent ones, near the tip, wander randomly, then fall into neat rows as they march smartly down the cob. Here and there someone loses the cadence and falls out of line for a step or two.

        A few strands always hold out, ducking 
        stickily into crevices between rows.

Then it's back to the silk. Most of it lets go willingly, but a few strands always hold out, ducking stickily into crevices between rows. I suppose this is where some might let the job get a bit tedious. Don't let it spoil the wonder; a few threads of corn silk may even be good for you!

Now just cut or break off the remaining stalk—appreciating the cob's tough, woody core—and your cob's ready for the pot.*

Corn on the cob: whether you're shuckin' it, cookin' it or eatin' it, enjoy! And if you have any funny or informative takes on corn we small-wonder freaks would love to hear from you in the comments!

* There are as many suggestions out there on how to cook sweet corn as there are on how to swing a golf club. I lean toward the less-is-more approach: Boil the water; turn off the heat; plop the corn in; and wait three minutes.

Even better and way easier, microwave your corn: Do not shuck the ears; cut off the stem end just before it starts curving in toward the stem; and nuke for: one ear - three minutes / two ears - five minutes / three ears - seven minutes. 

Using hot mitts or pads, grab each ear by the pointed, silk end and squeeze as you would a big tube of reluctant toothpaste. The denuded ear will slide out the fat end and leave you holding all the husk and all the silk in your hand.

BIRD’S-EYE PEE-EW – The Sad Decline of Balconies

As a designer and former architecture student, I despise the plague of cheap, soulless apartment and condo buildings popping up around town in recent years. Especially here in the neighborhoods surrounding the University of Minnesota’s sprawling Minneapolis campus.

Most are dull, three- to twenty-story cuboids clad in various colors of stamped metal siding. (As if color could mask the lack of imagination.) With little dimen-
sion, detailing or texture, they appear to have been built on the cheap for a shelf 
life of about ten years.

HANGING BY A THREAD
As if to double down on the shallow design, the builders—pretty sure they’re not architects—nearly always tack on a bristling of tiny, barely-closet-size balconies. Underscoring the tackiness, they opt not to even try integrating them into the building’s structure. 

Instead, they’re more or less screwed into the façade, where it seems the only thing keeping them from simply falling off under their own weight is a pair of half-inch cables. I'm sure the wires are up to the job, but they don’t look like it.

         

These dime-a-dozen, afterthought balconies are more insult than asset! I wonder if prospective renters or buyers actually see these little appurtenances as an attraction—one that probably added a couple hundred bucks to their payments. 

             These “McBalconies” always look 
             more like swings than solid ledges.

CANTILEVER…OR CAN THEY?
More damning than my esthetic gripe is the fact that very few residents even use these bitty balconies. If I scan twenty of them—say on one of these fine summer evenings—I’d be surprised to spot one of them occupied. Few have as much as a folding chair on them.

No wonder. The thin, woven strands holding up all these “McBalconies” make them look more like swings than solid ledges.

NOW THAT’S A BALCONY 
A thoughtful, well-designed balcony, one you’d actually want to use, is a wonder, especially for those without the space, or with too much altitude, for a deck. It affords one a chance to step outdoors now and then, breathe some fresh air, maybe catch some rays. What’s more, you get a bird’s-eye view.

A balcony should at least provide enough room for a couple of chairs and a small table. Room not simply to sit, but to stretch your legs out without them poking through the railing. Even better, space for a few potted plants, perhaps a bird feeder, and—codes permitting—a small grill.

Besides the issue of space, there’s also an esthetic baseline here; a deck has to look solid, as if it’s actually incorporated into the structure of the building, not just glued on. It’s that visual integrity, that intentionality, that makes a decent balcony feel solid and safe.
   It’s a bonus when your balcony’s made of wood.

Though rare these days, it’s a pleasant bonus when your balcony’s made of wood. I know it can be a maintenance issue, but it’s a warmer vibe—kind of like the feel of sitting in a wood canoe instead of one stamped out of cold, hard aluminum or some synthetic supermaterial.

         

          Nature blesses us with a vital spiritual 
          connection to Mother Earth.
 
ENTREE TO THE REALM
We human animals have a primeval need for secure, elevated vantage points. That need, once driven by the sheer will to survive, eventually gave way—once we gained the luxury of leisure—to simply a desire to enjoy a few of Nature’s won-
ders, even when living in the city.

We all, especially children, need regular doses of what author and Children and Nature Network co-founder, Richard Louv calls Vitamin N (Nature). It calms us, cures us, and blesses many of us with a vital spiritual connection to Mother Earth. A good balcony offers us at least a maintenance dose.

But we’ve been steadily losing touch with Nature since the Industrial Revolution. And never at the staggering rate that’s come with the Digital Age. The Internet, social media and artificial intelligence have all taken ravenous bites out of that essential connection. Bad balconies don’t help.

While I feel sorry for a kid who doesn’t have a back yard to play on, or an adult who’s too busy to spend much time outdoors, thank God there are still ways to experience Nature in an urban setting. A walk, a bike ride, container gardening…all offer us entrée to that precious realm. 

So does a good, solid balcony.

PHOTO: iStock