Nuwe resepte

Geroosterde Kalifornië Avokado-Corn Relish

Geroosterde Kalifornië Avokado-Corn Relish


Probeer hierdie gegrilde avokado-mieliegereg gemaak met geroosterde mielies, avokado's en rissies

Probeer hierdie gegrilde avokado-mieliegereg gemaak met geroosterde mielies, avokado's en rissies.

Hierdie resep word gebruik in die Ivy Stark se Chimichurri Steak en die gegrilde California Avocado Ancient Grain Bowl -resep.

Resep geskep deur Ivy Stark van Dos Caminos vir die California Avocado Commission.

Bestanddele

  • 3/8 koppies olyfolie, verdeel
  • 2 koppies vars mieliepitte (ongeveer 2-3 ore)
  • 1/2 teelepel seesout
  • Swartpeper, na smaak
  • 1 ryp, vars Kalifornië -avokado, ontpit, geskil en in skywe gesny
  • 1 groot rooi soetrissie, ontpit en ontpit
  • 2 poblano chiles, gebraai, geskil en ontpit
  • 2 groen uie, liggroen en wit snitte in dun skywe gesny
  • 1/4 koppie rooiwynasyn

Avokadomieliesmaak

Op boeremarkte koop mense nie net suikermielies nie. Hulle val dit aan. Hulle skeur die skil terug, steek duimnaels in monsterpitte en wag totdat die mollige korrels met melk uitbars. Hoe varser die mielies, hoe raseriger word dit en ruk en ruk en ruk dit, terwyl dit jaloerse hopies van die uitgesoekte kolwers vorm en half-afgesnyde afval opsy gooi.

U sal dit nie by 'n kruidenierswinkel sien nie. Daar word baie korrekte koring op hierdie plekke verkoop, maar dikwels word dit vooraf gesny en in plastiek toegedraai. Op sy beste sal dit 3 tot 7 dae oud wees. Dit is geen skandaal nie. Dit sal meer as eetbaar wees, dit sal goed wees, 'n enorme verbetering op wat slegs jare gelede beskikbaar was.

Tog sal dit 'n paar van sy probleme verloor het. Die melk het sy varsheid verloor en die skil het nie die geur wat die aankoop van mielies op 'n boeremark die sensuele ekwivalent van 'n diep snork van gebakte gras maak nie.

Die hardnekkige seisoenaliteit en verganklikheid van die gewas het dit een van die land se min werklik gesamentlike lekkernye gemaak. Almal het 'n mening oor hoe om dit te kook, of 'n tegniek vir braai, 'n gedagte oor botter en sout, want almal het daardie veld-vars smaak begeer. Dit het 'n byna paradoksale identiteit: dit is 'n universele luukse.

Luukse, want alhoewel koring ons gewas nr. 1 is, is die oorgrote meerderheid nie suikermielies nie, dit is veldmielies. Dit word hoog gegroei, op die steel gedroog, afgemaai en tientalle maniere verwerk tot honderde produkte.

Suikermielies moet met die hand gepluk word. In Suid -Kalifornië begin 'n klein aantal produsente in Februarie plant en hou die hele lente aan. Ore begin in Junie op boeremarkte verskyn, en 'n klein, maar bestendige opeenvolging sal gedurende die somer aanhou kom.

Die plante is wonderwerke. Die wortels, stam en blare suig voedingstowwe en water uit die grond op, en omskep dit dan tydens fotosintese in suikers. Dit word in die ore gebring vir stoor. Namate die plant groei, fokus hy al sy energie daarop om ore te maak.

Daar is gewoonlik twee per plant. Binne in hulle verberg skilblare ry na ry klein blommetjies. Aangesien dit gereed is vir bestuiwing, verskyn sye aan die einde van die skil. Bo -op die plant verskyn die tossel.

As die plant volwasse is, stel dit stuifmeel vry, wat deur die sy gevang word, in die oor gedra word en bevrug die baie rye blomme wat pitte word, of mielies. As u koring met onvrugbare punte sien, beteken dit nie dat 'n plaag voor u kom nie. Dit beteken gewoonlik onvoldoende bestuiwing.

Die mielies is gereed om te eet wanneer die sy bruin begin word, maar nie die skil nie. Daar is geen tyd om te mors nie: die koring moet op die hoogtepunt van rypheid gevang word, voordat 'n ingeboude veroudering die plant vertel om op te hou groei. As dit gebeur, stop die plant met die vervaardiging van suiker en stuur dit na die ore. Suiker wat daar gestoor word, word eerder bedoel om stysel te word, om 'n saad deur ontkieming te voed.

Plukkers kan in 'n oogopslag 'n ryp oor sien. Jeff Kelly het 30 hektaar Jubilee super suikermielies in Chino. Gedurende die somer het hy 'n bemanning van ses tot agt manne wat elke oggend van 06:00 af oes. Binne 24 uur sal dit op boeremarkte wees.

Kelly sê dat hy baie soet word omdat dit beter is as outydse variëteite. Tot onlangs het die suikers na die pluk so vinnig na stysel verander dat die spreekwoord "eers kook die water, dan kies u koring".

Maar in die vyftigerjare het 'n Illinois -genetikus met die naam John Laughnan besef dat 'n paar koringlyne ondoeltreffend was om stysel te stoor, maar uiters doeltreffend om suiker te produseer. Hy het begin om die sade te selekteer en te kruis.

Super suikermielies is so ver verwyderd van sy wilde voorouer, 'n hoë Mexikaanse gras genaamd teosinte, dat niemand tot onlangs toe heeltemal seker was waar makgemaakte suikermielies vandaan kom nie. Maar dit lyk nou asof konsensus bestaan ​​dat ou inheemse mense stelselmatig teosinte ingeteel het totdat dit moderne koring geword het. Sommige voorstanders van geneties gemodifiseerde koring wys selfs op teosinte om hul werk te ondersteun. Hulle argument: as u dink dat die gene-splitsing waaroor Monsanto te doen het, baie is, kyk dan wat die Asteke met hierdie hondjie gedoen het.

Intussen betreur sommige erfgename die afsterwe van die suikermielies wat deur Laughnan verouder is. Hulle smag na gewone ou suikermielies. Dit smaak meer na mielies, minder na suiker, sê hulle.

Miskien, sê Kelly, maar sy kliënte roep nie om styselrige mielies nie.

As dit kom by wit versus geel mielies, is daar geen verskil in smaak nie, sê Neelima Sinha, professor in plantbiologie aan UC Davis. Voedingsgewys kan gekleurde mielies die rand in beta-karoteen en ander pigmentverwante plantvoedingstowwe hê.

In 'n perfekte wêreld sou ons meer weet oor al die wilde mielies tussen teosinte en supersoet. Maar ons keuse is super soet in die supermark of boeremark super soet. Ons val op die boeremark se mielies omdat dit nie net soet is nie, maar melkagtige fermheid en boeiende grasgeure.

Dit is so goed dat daar diegene is wat daarop aandring dat dit 'n travestie is om dit te kook. Dit moet rou geëet word. Dan is daar diegene wat u met 'n wonderlike voorkoms sal regmaak terwyl u na die botter en sout reik en aankondig dat hulle hulle s'n direk uit die pot eet.

Ja, dit is goed uit die pot.

Maar hoekom kook jy nie op sy beste met mielies nie? Deur daarop aan te dring dat super vars mielies slegs naby rou geëet word, verlaag ons mieliekook na die blikkies- en bevrore voedselbedryf.

Maar gebruik die varsste van die vars, voeg dan botter by, voeg room by, voeg sout by, voeg peper by en klein wonderwerke gebeur. Leser, ons was onlangs in die nek in mielies, en selfs succotash, wat met suikermielies gemaak is, was goed.

Ons het drie resepte in hul pas gegee. In die smaak van Mary Sue Milliken en Susan Feniger het dag-vars suikermielies 'n helder, soet noot gebring, in teenstelling met die rykdom van olie, avokado, asyn en peper.

Chowder was 'n openbaring. Dit word gewoonlik gemaak van ingemaakte mielies en het 'n sekere sagte, vertroostende kwaliteit, veral as 'n kater, genees deur die soppot van aluminium.

Maar maak dit met suikermielies, verlaag die kooktyd en neem die room liggies, en u het ligte, lewendige en unieke somers.

Maar miskien is die grootste verrassing 'n succotash -resep van Jeremy Lee, Skotse sjef van die Blue Print Cafe in Londen. Lee is 'n mal boontjie kok. Suikermielies het onder sy aandag gekom as gevolg van die Latynse gewoonte om boontjies saam met mielies te verbou en die stingels as spruite te gebruik.

Nadat hy besluit het om hulle in dieselfde pot te sit, onthou hy dof dat hy die resep by James Beard gesteel het. Daarin spaar hy ons nie net vir die skoolmaaltydbestanddeel van limabone nie, hy vra ook vir super vars mielies, wat so goed hou dat 'n mens uiteindelik kan verstaan ​​waarom sukashash een van die belangrikste geregte in Amerika was.

Suid -Kalifornië het die langste suikermielieseisoen in die land. Dit begin in Junie en kom deur die herfs. Dit kan nog steeds 'n goeie mieliekok van ons maak. Dit gee ons genoeg om mee te kook nadat ons onsself op mieliekop gesit het, oor na oor gryp en hulle gulsig skoonmaak.


Avokadomieliesmaak

Op boeremarkte koop mense nie net suikermielies nie. Hulle val dit aan. Hulle skeur die skil terug, steek duimnaels in monsterpitte en wag totdat die mollige korrels met melk uitbars. Hoe varser die mielies, hoe meer woedend word dit dat dit skeur en ruk, rip en stamp, terwyl dit jaloerse hopies van die uitgesoekte koppe vorm en half-afgesnyde afval opsy gooi.

U sal dit nie by 'n kruidenierswinkel sien nie. Daar word baie korrekte koring op hierdie plekke verkoop, maar dikwels word dit vooraf gesny en in plastiek toegedraai. Op sy beste sal dit 3 tot 7 dae oud wees. Dit is geen skandaal nie. Dit sal meer as eetbaar wees, dit sal goed wees, 'n enorme verbetering teenoor wat slegs jare gelede beskikbaar was.

Tog sal dit 'n deel van sy knou verloor het. Die melk het sy varsheid verloor en die skil het nie die geur wat die aankoop van mielies op 'n boeremark die sensuele ekwivalent van 'n diep snork van gebakte gras maak nie.

Die hardnekkige seisoenaliteit en verganklikheid van die gewas het dit een van die land se min kollektiewe lekkernye gemaak. Almal het 'n mening oor hoe om dit te kook, of 'n tegniek vir braai, 'n gedagte oor botter en sout, want almal het daardie veld-vars smaak begeer. Dit het 'n byna paradoksale identiteit: dit is 'n universele luukse.

Luukse want alhoewel mielies ons gewas nr. 1 is, is die oorgrote meerderheid nie suikermielies nie, dit is veldmielies. Dit word hoog gegroei, op die steel gedroog, afgemaai en tientalle maniere verwerk tot honderde produkte.

Suikermielies moet met die hand gepluk word. In Suid -Kalifornië begin 'n klein aantal produsente in Februarie plant en hou die hele lente aan. Ore begin in Junie op boeremarkte verskyn, en 'n klein, maar bestendige opeenvolging sal gedurende die somer aanhou kom.

Die plante is wonderwerke. Die wortels, stam en blare suig voedingstowwe en water uit die grond op, en omskep dit dan tydens fotosintese in suikers. Dit word in die ore gebring vir stoor. Namate die plant groei, fokus hy al sy energie daarop om ore te maak.

Daar is gewoonlik twee per plant. Binne -in verberg die skilblare ry na ry klein blommetjies. Aangesien hulle gereed is vir bestuiwing, verskyn sye aan die einde van die skil. Bo -op die plant verskyn die tossel.

As die plant volwasse is, stel dit stuifmeel vry, wat deur die sy gevang word, in die oor gedra word en bevrug die baie rye blomme wat pitte word, of mielies. As u koring met onvrugbare punte sien, beteken dit nie dat 'n plaag voor u kom nie. Dit beteken gewoonlik onvoldoende bestuiwing.

Die mielies is gereed om te eet wanneer die sy bruin begin word, maar nie die skil nie. Daar is geen tyd om te mors nie: die koring moet op die hoogtepunt van rypheid gevang word, voordat 'n ingeboude veroudering die plant vertel om op te hou groei. As dit gebeur, stop die plant met die vervaardiging van suiker en stuur dit na die ore. Suiker wat daar gestoor word, word eerder bedoel om stysel te word, om 'n saad deur ontkieming te voed.

Plukkers kan in 'n oogopslag 'n ryp oor sien. Jeff Kelly het 30 hektaar Jubilee suikermielies in Chino. Gedurende die somer het hy 'n bemanning van ses tot agt manne wat elke oggend van 06:00 af oes. Binne 24 uur sal dit op boeremarkte wees.

Kelly sê dat hy baie soet word omdat dit beter is as outydse variëteite. Tot onlangs het die suikers na die pluk so vinnig na stysel verander dat die spreekwoord "eers kook die water, dan kies u koring".

Maar in die vyftigerjare het 'n Illinois -genetikus met die naam John Laughnan besef dat sommige koringlyne ondoeltreffend was om stysel te stoor, maar buitengewoon doeltreffend om suiker te produseer. Hy het begin om die sade te selekteer en te kruis.

Super suikermielies is so ver verwyderd van sy wilde voorouer, 'n hoë Mexikaanse gras genaamd teosinte, dat niemand tot onlangs toe heeltemal seker was waar makgemaakte suikermielies vandaan kom nie. Maar dit lyk nou asof konsensus bestaan ​​dat ou inheemse mense stelselmatig teosinte ingeteel het totdat dit moderne koring geword het. Sommige voorstanders van geneties gemodifiseerde koring wys selfs op teosinte om hul werk te ondersteun. Hulle argument: as u dink dat die gene-splitsing waaroor Monsanto te doen het, baie is, kyk dan wat die Asteke met hierdie hondjie gedoen het.

Intussen betreur sommige erfgename die afsterwe van die suikermielies wat deur Laughnan verouder is. Hulle smag na gewone ou suikermielies. Dit smaak meer na mielies, minder na suiker, sê hulle.

Miskien, sê Kelly, maar sy kliënte roep nie om styselrige mielies nie.

As dit kom by wit teenoor geel mielies, is daar geen verskil in smaak nie, sê Neelima Sinha, professor in plantbiologie aan UC Davis. Voedingsgewys kan gekleurde mielies die rand in beta-karoteen en ander pigmentverwante plantvoedingstowwe hê.

In 'n perfekte wêreld sou ons meer weet oor al die wilde mielies tussen teosinte en supersoet. Maar ons keuse is super soet in die supermark of boeremark super soet. Ons val op die boeremark se mielies omdat dit nie net soet is nie, maar melkagtige fermheid en boeiende grasgeure.

Dit is so goed dat daar diegene is wat daarop aandring dat dit 'n travestie is om dit te kook. Dit moet rou geëet word. Dan is daar diegene wat u met 'n wonderlike voorkoms sal regmaak terwyl u na die botter en sout reik en aankondig dat hulle hulle s'n direk uit die pot eet.

Ja, dit is goed uit die pot.

Maar hoekom kook jy nie op sy beste met mielies nie? Deur daarop aan te dring dat super vars mielies slegs naby rou geëet word, verlaag ons mieliekook na die blikkies- en bevrore voedselbedryf.

Maar gebruik die varsste van die vars, voeg dan botter by, voeg room by, voeg sout by, voeg peper by en klein wonderwerke gebeur. Leser, ons was onlangs in die nek in mielies, en selfs succotash, gemaak met boeremielies, was goed.

Ons het drie resepte in hul pas gegee. In die smaak van Mary Sue Milliken en Susan Feniger het dag-vars suikermielies 'n helder, soet noot gebring, in teenstelling met die rykdom van olie, avokado, asyn en peper.

Chowder was 'n openbaring. Dit word gewoonlik gemaak van ingemaakte mielies en het 'n sekere sagte, troostende kwaliteit, veral as 'n kater, genees deur die soppot van aluminium.

Maar maak dit met dag-vars suikermielies, verlaag die kooktyd en neem die room liggies, en u het ligte, lewendige en unieke somers.

Maar miskien is die grootste verrassing 'n succotash -resep van Jeremy Lee, Skotse sjef van die Blue Print Cafe in Londen. Lee is 'n mal boontjie kok. Suikermielies het onder sy aandag gekom as gevolg van die Latynse gewoonte om boontjies saam met mielies te verbou en die stingels as spruite te gebruik.

Nadat hy besluit het om hulle in dieselfde pot te sit, onthou hy dof dat hy die resep by James Beard gesteel het. Hierin spaar hy ons nie net vir die skoolmaaltydbestanddeel van limabone nie, hy vra ook vir super vars mielies, wat so goed hou dat 'n mens uiteindelik kan verstaan ​​waarom sukashash een van die belangrikste geregte in Amerika was.

Suid -Kalifornië het die langste suikermielieseisoen in die land. Dit begin in Junie en kom deur die herfs. Dit kan nog steeds 'n goeie mieliekok van ons maak. Dit gee ons genoeg om mee te kook nadat ons onsself op mieliekop gesit het, oor na oor gryp en hulle gulsig verwyder.


Avokadomieliesmaak

Op boeremarkte koop mense nie net suikermielies nie. Hulle val dit aan. Hulle skeur die skil terug, steek duimnaels in monsterpitte en wag totdat die mollige korrels met melk uitbars. Hoe varser die mielies, hoe raseriger word dit en ruk en ruk en ruk dit, terwyl dit jaloerse hopies van die uitgesoekte kolwers vorm en half-afgesnyde afval opsy gooi.

U sal dit nie by 'n kruidenierswinkel sien nie. Daar word baie korrekte koring op hierdie plekke verkoop, maar dikwels word dit voorgesny en in plastiek toegedraai. Op sy beste sal dit 3 tot 7 dae oud wees. Dit is geen skandaal nie. Dit sal meer as eetbaar wees, dit sal goed wees, 'n enorme verbetering teenoor wat slegs jare gelede beskikbaar was.

Tog sal dit 'n paar van sy probleme verloor het. Die melk het sy varsheid verloor en die skil het nie die geur wat die aankoop van mielies op 'n boeremark die sensuele ekwivalent van 'n diep snork van gebakte gras maak nie.

Die hardnekkige seisoenaliteit en verganklikheid van die gewas het dit een van die land se min werklik gesamentlike lekkernye gemaak. Almal het 'n mening oor hoe om dit te kook, of 'n tegniek om te braai, 'n gedagte oor botter en sout, want almal het daardie veld-vars smaak begeer. Dit het 'n byna paradoksale identiteit: dit is 'n universele luukse.

Luukse want alhoewel mielies ons gewas nr. 1 is, is die oorgrote meerderheid nie suikermielies nie, dit is veldmielies. Dit word hoog gegroei, op die steel gedroog, afgemaai en tientalle maniere verwerk tot honderde produkte.

Suikermielies moet met die hand gepluk word. In Suid -Kalifornië begin 'n klein aantal produsente in Februarie plant en hou die hele lente aan. Ore begin in Junie op boeremarkte verskyn, en 'n klein, maar bestendige opeenvolging sal gedurende die somer aanhou kom.

Die plante is wonderwerke. Die wortels, stam en blare suig voedingstowwe en water uit die grond op, en omskep dit dan tydens fotosintese in suikers. Dit word in die ore gebring vir stoor. Namate die plant groei, fokus hy al sy energie daarop om ore te maak.

Daar is gewoonlik twee per plant. Binne -in verberg die skilblare ry na ry klein blommetjies. Aangesien hulle gereed is vir bestuiwing, verskyn sye aan die einde van die skil. Bo -op die plant verskyn die tossel.

As die plant volwasse is, stel dit stuifmeel vry, wat deur die sy gevang word, in die oor gedra word en bevrug die baie rye blomme wat pitte word, of mielies. As u koring met onvrugbare punte sien, beteken dit nie dat 'n plaag voor u kom nie. Dit beteken gewoonlik onvoldoende bestuiwing.

Die mielies is gereed om te eet wanneer die sy bruin begin word, maar nie die skil nie. Daar is geen tyd om te mors nie: die koring moet op die hoogtepunt van rypheid gevang word, voordat 'n ingeboude veroudering die plant vertel om op te hou groei. As dit gebeur, stop die plant met die vervaardiging van suiker en stuur dit na die ore. Suiker wat daar gestoor word, word eerder bedoel om stysel te word, om 'n saad deur ontkieming te voed.

Plukkers kan in 'n oogopslag 'n ryp oor sien. Jeff Kelly het 30 hektaar Jubilee super suikermielies in Chino. Gedurende die somer het hy 'n bemanning van ses tot agt manne wat elke oggend van 06:00 af oes. Binne 24 uur sal dit op boeremarkte wees.

Kelly sê dat hy baie soet word omdat dit beter is as outydse variëteite. Tot onlangs het die suikers na die pluk so vinnig na stysel verander dat die spreekwoord "eers kook die water, dan kies u koring".

Maar in die vyftigerjare het 'n Illinois -genetikus met die naam John Laughnan besef dat sommige koringlyne ondoeltreffend was om stysel te stoor, maar buitengewoon doeltreffend om suiker te produseer. Hy het begin om die sade te selekteer en te kruis.

Super suikermielies is so ver verwyderd van sy wilde voorouer, 'n hoë Mexikaanse gras genaamd teosinte, dat niemand tot onlangs toe heeltemal seker was waar makgemaakte suikermielies vandaan kom nie. Maar dit lyk nou asof konsensus bestaan ​​dat ou inheemse mense stelselmatig teosinte ingeteel het totdat dit moderne koring geword het. Sommige voorstanders van geneties gemodifiseerde koring wys selfs op teosinte om hul werk te ondersteun. Hulle argument: as u dink dat die gene-splitsing waaroor Monsanto te doen het, baie is, kyk dan wat die Asteke met hierdie hondjie gedoen het.

Intussen betreur sommige erfgename die afsterwe van die suikermielies wat deur Laughnan verouder is. Hulle smag na gewone ou suikermielies. Dit smaak meer na mielies, minder na suiker, sê hulle.

Miskien, sê Kelly, maar sy kliënte roep nie om styselrige mielies nie.

As dit kom by wit versus geel mielies, is daar geen verskil in smaak nie, sê Neelima Sinha, professor in plantbiologie aan UC Davis. Voedingsgewys kan gekleurde mielies die rand in beta-karoteen en ander pigmentverwante plantvoedingstowwe hê.

In 'n perfekte wêreld sou ons meer weet oor al die wilde mielies tussen teosinte en supersoet. Maar ons keuse is super soet in die supermark of boeremark soet. Ons val op die boeremark se mielies omdat dit nie net soet is nie, maar melkagtige fermheid en boeiende grasgeure.

Dit is so goed dat daar diegene is wat daarop aandring dat dit 'n travestie is om dit te kook. Dit moet rou geëet word. Dan is daar diegene wat u met 'n wonderlike voorkoms sal regmaak terwyl u na die botter en sout reik en aankondig dat hulle hulle s'n direk uit die pot eet.

Ja, dit is goed uit die pot.

Maar hoekom kook jy nie op sy beste met mielies nie? Deur daarop aan te dring dat super vars mielies slegs naby rou geëet word, verlaag ons mieliekook na die blikkies- en bevrore voedselbedryf.

Maar gebruik die varsste van die vars, voeg dan botter by, voeg room by, voeg sout by, voeg peper by en klein wonderwerke gebeur. Leser, ons was onlangs in die nek in mielies, en selfs succotash, wat met suikermielies gemaak is, was goed.

Ons het drie resepte in hul pas gegee. In die smaak van Mary Sue Milliken en Susan Feniger bring dagmielies 'n helder, soet noot in kontras met die rykdom van olie, avokado, asyn en peper.

Chowder was 'n openbaring. Dit word gewoonlik gemaak van ingemaakte mielies en het 'n sekere sagte, troostende kwaliteit, veral as 'n kater, genees deur die soppot van aluminium.

Maar maak dit met vars vars mielies, verminder die kooktyd en neem die room liggies, en u het ligte, lewendige en unieke somers.

Maar miskien is die grootste verrassing 'n succotash -resep van Jeremy Lee, Skotse sjef van die Blue Print Cafe in Londen. Lee is 'n mal boontjie kok. Suikermielies het onder sy aandag gekom as gevolg van die Latynse gewoonte om boontjies saam met mielies te verbou en die stingels as spruite te gebruik.

Nadat hy besluit het om hulle in dieselfde pot te sit, onthou hy dof dat hy die resep by James Beard gesteel het. Hierin spaar hy ons nie net vir die skoolmaaltydbestanddeel van limabone nie, hy vra ook vir super vars mielies, wat so goed hou dat 'n mens uiteindelik kan verstaan ​​waarom sukashash een van die belangrikste geregte in Amerika was.

Suid -Kalifornië het die langste suikermielieseisoen in die land. Dit begin in Junie en kom deur die herfs. Dit kan nog steeds 'n goeie mieliekok van ons maak. Dit gee ons genoeg om mee te kook nadat ons onsself op mieliekop gesit het, oor na oor gryp en hulle gulsig verwyder.


Avokadomieliesmaak

Op boeremarkte koop mense nie net suikermielies nie. Hulle val dit aan. Hulle skeur die skil terug, steek duimnaels in monsterpitte en wag totdat die mollige korrels met melk uitbars. Hoe varser die mielies, hoe raseriger word dit en ruk en ruk en ruk dit, terwyl dit jaloerse hopies van die uitgesoekte kolwers vorm en half-afgesnyde afval opsy gooi.

U sal dit nie by 'n kruidenierswinkel sien nie. Daar word baie korrekte koring op hierdie plekke verkoop, maar dikwels word dit vooraf gesny en in plastiek toegedraai. Op sy beste sal dit 3 tot 7 dae oud wees. Dit is geen skandaal nie. Dit sal meer as eetbaar wees, dit sal goed wees, 'n enorme verbetering op wat slegs jare gelede beskikbaar was.

Tog sal dit 'n paar van sy probleme verloor het. Die melk het sy varsheid verloor en die skil het nie die geur wat die aankoop van mielies op 'n boeremark die sensuele ekwivalent van 'n diep snork van gebakte gras maak nie.

Die hardnekkige seisoenaliteit en verganklikheid van die gewas het dit een van die land se min werklik gesamentlike lekkernye gemaak. Almal het 'n mening oor hoe om dit te kook, of 'n tegniek om te braai, 'n gedagte oor botter en sout, want almal het daardie veld-vars smaak begeer. Dit het 'n byna paradoksale identiteit: dit is 'n universele luukse.

Luukse, want alhoewel koring ons gewas nr. 1 is, is die oorgrote meerderheid nie suikermielies nie, dit is veldmielies. Dit word hoog gegroei, op die steel gedroog, afgemaai en tientalle maniere verwerk tot honderde produkte.

Suikermielies moet met die hand gepluk word. In Suid -Kalifornië begin 'n klein aantal produsente in Februarie plant en hou die hele lente aan. Ore begin in Junie op boeremarkte verskyn, en 'n klein, maar bestendige opeenvolging sal gedurende die somer voortduur.

Die plante is wonderwerke. Die wortels, stam en blare suig voedingstowwe en water uit die grond op, en omskep dit dan tydens fotosintese in suikers. Dit word in die ore gebring vir stoor. Namate die plant groei, fokus hy al sy energie daarop om ore te maak.

Daar is gewoonlik twee per plant. Binne -in verberg die skilblare ry na ry klein blommetjies. Aangesien dit gereed is vir bestuiwing, verskyn sye aan die einde van die skil. Bo -op die plant verskyn die tossel.

As die plant volwasse is, stel dit stuifmeel vry, wat deur die sy gevang word, in die oor gedra word en bevrug die baie rye blomme wat pitte word, of mielies. As u koring met onvrugbare punte sien, beteken dit nie dat 'n plaag voor u kom nie. Dit beteken gewoonlik onvoldoende bestuiwing.

Die mielies is gereed om te eet wanneer die sy bruin begin word, maar nie die skil nie. Daar is geen tyd om te mors nie: die koring moet op die hoogtepunt van rypheid gevang word, voordat 'n ingeboude veroudering die plant vertel om op te hou groei. As dit gebeur, stop die plant met die vervaardiging van suiker en stuur dit na die ore. Suiker wat daar gestoor word, word eerder bedoel om stysel te word, om 'n saad deur ontkieming te voed.

Plukkers kan in 'n oogopslag 'n ryp oor sien. Jeff Kelly het 30 hektaar Jubilee super suikermielies in Chino. Gedurende die somer het hy 'n bemanning van ses tot agt manne wat elke oggend van 06:00 af oes. Binne 24 uur sal dit op boeremarkte wees.

Kelly sê dat hy baie soet word omdat dit beter is as outydse variëteite. Tot onlangs het die suikers na die pluk so vinnig na stysel verander dat die spreekwoord "eers kook die water, dan kies u koring".

Maar in die vyftigerjare het 'n Illinois -genetikus met die naam John Laughnan besef dat 'n paar koringlyne ondoeltreffend was om stysel te stoor, maar uiters doeltreffend om suiker te produseer. Hy het begin om die sade te selekteer en te kruis.

Super suikermielies is so ver verwyderd van sy wilde voorouer, 'n hoë Mexikaanse gras genaamd teosinte, dat niemand tot onlangs toe heeltemal seker was waar makgemaakte suikermielies vandaan kom nie. Maar dit lyk nou asof konsensus bestaan ​​dat ou inheemse mense stelselmatig teosinte ingeteel het totdat dit moderne koring geword het. Sommige voorstanders van geneties gemodifiseerde koring wys selfs op teosinte om hul werk te ondersteun. Hulle argument: as u dink dat die gene-splitsing waaroor Monsanto te doen het, baie is, kyk dan wat die Asteke met hierdie hondjie gedoen het.

Intussen betreur sommige erfgename die afsterwe van die suikermielies wat deur Laughnan verouder is. Hulle smag na gewone ou suikermielies. Dit smaak meer na mielies, minder na suiker, sê hulle.

Miskien, sê Kelly, maar sy kliënte roep nie om styselrige mielies nie.

As dit kom by wit teenoor geel mielies, is daar geen verskil in smaak nie, sê Neelima Sinha, professor in plantbiologie aan UC Davis. Voedingsgewys kan gekleurde mielies die rand in beta-karoteen en ander pigmentverwante plantvoedingstowwe hê.

In 'n perfekte wêreld sou ons meer weet oor al die wilde mielies tussen teosinte en supersoet. Maar ons keuse is super soet in die supermark of boeremark super soet. Ons val op die boeremark se mielies omdat dit nie net soet is nie, maar die melkagtige fermheid en boeiende grasgeure.

Dit is so goed dat daar diegene is wat daarop aandring dat dit 'n travestie is om dit te kook. Dit moet rou geëet word. Dan is daar diegene wat u met 'n wonderlike voorkoms sal regmaak terwyl u na die botter en sout reik en aankondig dat hulle hulle s'n direk uit die pot eet.

Ja, dit is goed uit die pot.

Maar hoekom kook jy nie op sy beste met mielies nie? Deur daarop aan te dring dat super vars mielies slegs naby rou geëet word, verlaag ons mieliekook na die blikkies- en bevrore voedselbedryf.

Maar gebruik die varsste van die vars, voeg dan botter by, voeg room by, voeg sout by, voeg peper by en klein wonderwerke gebeur. Leser, ons was onlangs in die nek in mielies, en selfs succotash, wat met suikermielies gemaak is, was goed.

Ons het drie resepte in hul pas gegee. In die smaak van Mary Sue Milliken en Susan Feniger het dag-vars suikermielies 'n helder, soet noot gebring, in teenstelling met die rykdom van olie, avokado, asyn en peper.

Chowder was 'n openbaring. Dit word gewoonlik gemaak van ingemaakte mielies en het 'n sekere sagte, vertroostende kwaliteit, veral as 'n kater, genees deur die soppot van aluminium.

Maar maak dit met dag-vars suikermielies, verlaag die kooktyd en neem die room liggies, en u het ligte, lewendige en unieke somers.

Maar miskien is die grootste verrassing 'n succotash -resep van Jeremy Lee, Skotse sjef van die Blue Print Cafe in Londen. Lee is 'n mal boontjie kok. Suikermielies het onder sy aandag gekom as gevolg van die Latynse gewoonte om boontjies saam met mielies te verbou en die stingels as spruite te gebruik.

Nadat hy besluit het om hulle in dieselfde pot te sit, onthou hy dof dat hy die resep by James Beard gesteel het. Hierin spaar hy ons nie net vir die skoolmaaltydbestanddeel van limabone nie, hy vra ook vir super vars mielies, wat so goed hou dat 'n mens uiteindelik kan verstaan ​​waarom sukashash een van die belangrikste geregte in Amerika was.

Suid -Kalifornië het die langste suikermielieseisoen in die land. Dit begin in Junie en kom deur die herfs. Dit kan nog steeds 'n goeie mieliekok van ons maak. Dit gee ons genoeg om mee te kook nadat ons onsself op mieliekop gesit het, oor na oor gryp en hulle gulsig skoonmaak.


Avokadomieliesmaak

Op boeremarkte koop mense nie net suikermielies nie. Hulle val dit aan. Hulle skeur die skil terug, steek duimnaels in monsterpitte en wag totdat die mollige korrels met melk uitbars. Hoe varser die mielies, hoe raseriger word dit en ruk en ruk en ruk dit, terwyl dit jaloerse hopies van die uitgesoekte kolwers vorm en half-afgesnyde afval opsy gooi.

U sal dit nie by 'n kruidenierswinkel sien nie. Daar word baie korrekte koring op hierdie plekke verkoop, maar dikwels word dit voorgesny en in plastiek toegedraai. Op sy beste sal dit 3 tot 7 dae oud wees. Dit is geen skandaal nie. Dit sal meer as eetbaar wees, dit sal goed wees, 'n enorme verbetering teenoor wat slegs jare gelede beskikbaar was.

Tog sal dit 'n paar van sy probleme verloor het. Die melk het sy varsheid verloor en die skil het nie die geur wat die aankoop van mielies op 'n boeremark die sensuele ekwivalent van 'n diep snork van gebakte gras maak nie.

Die hardnekkige seisoenaliteit en verganklikheid van die gewas het dit een van die land se min werklik gesamentlike lekkernye gemaak. Almal het 'n mening oor hoe om dit te kook, of 'n tegniek om te braai, 'n gedagte oor botter en sout, want almal het daardie veld-vars smaak begeer. Dit het 'n byna paradoksale identiteit: dit is 'n universele luukse.

Luukse, want alhoewel koring ons gewas nr. 1 is, is die oorgrote meerderheid nie suikermielies nie, dit is veldmielies. Dit word hoog gegroei, op die steel gedroog, afgemaai en tientalle maniere verwerk tot honderde produkte.

Sweet corn must be picked by hand. In Southern California, a small number of growers start planting in February and keep going all spring. Ears begin appearing in farmers markets in June, and a small but steady succession will keep coming throughout the summer.

The plants are marvels. The roots, stem and leaves suck up nutrients and water from the ground, and then, during photosynthesis, convert it to sugars. This is whisked off to ears for storage. As the plant grows, it focuses all of its energy on making ears.

There are usually two per plant. Inside them, husk leaves conceal row after row of tiny flowers. As these ready for pollination, silks appear from the end of the husk. At the top of the plant, the tassel appears.

When the plant is mature, it releases pollen, which is caught by the silks, carried into the ear and fertilizes the many rows of flowers, which become kernels, or corns. When you see corn with barren tips, it doesn’t mean a pest has got to your corn before you. It usually means inadequate pollination.

The corn is ready to eat when the silk begins to turn brown, but not the husk leaves. There is no time to waste: The corn must be caught at the peak of ripeness, before a built-in senescence tells the plant to stop growing. When this happens, the plant stops making sugar and sending it to the ears. Rather, sugar stored there is cued to become starch, to feed a seed through germination.

Pickers can see a ripe ear at a glance. Jeff Kelly has 30 acres of Jubilee super sweet corn in Chino. Throughout the summer, he has a crew of six to eight men harvesting every morning from 6 a.m. Within 24 hours, it will be in farmers markets.

Kelly says that he grows super sweet because it’s better than old-fashioned varieties. Until recently, the sugars turned to starch so quickly after picking, the “first boil the water, then pick your corn” adage was born.

But in the 1950s, an Illinois geneticist named John Laughnan realized that some lines of corn were inefficient at storing starch but exceptionally efficient at producing sugar. He began selecting the seeds and cross-breeding them.

Super sweet corn is so far removed from its wild ancestor, a tall Mexican grass called teosinte, that until recently, nobody was quite sure where domesticated sweet corn came from. But consensus now seems to be that ancient indigenous people systematically inbred teosinte, until it became modern corn. Some proponents of genetically modified corn even point to teosinte to support their work. Their argument: If you think the gene-splicing that Monsanto is up to is extreme, take a look at what the Aztecs did with this puppy.

Meanwhile, some heirloomists lament the demise of the sweet corn left obsolete by Laughnan. They yearn for plain old sweet corn. It tastes more like corn, less like sugar, they say.

Maybe, says Kelly, but his customers aren’t clamoring for starchy corn.

When it comes to white versus yellow corn, there’s no difference in flavor, says Neelima Sinha, a professor of plant biology at UC Davis. Nutritionally, colored corn might have the edge in beta carotene and other pigment-related plant nutrients.

In a perfect world, we would know more about all those wild corns between teosinte and super sweet. But our choice is supermarket super sweet or farmers market super sweet. We fall on the farmers markets corn because it’s got the edge not just on sweetness, but milky firmness and captivating grassy aromas.

It’s so good that there are those who insist that cooking it is a travesty. It should be eaten raw. Then there are those who will fix you with a supercilious look as you reach for the butter and salt and announce that they eat theirs straight from the pot.

Yep, it’s good straight from the pot.

But why not cook with corn at its best? By insisting that super fresh corn only be eaten near raw, we are relegating corn cookery to the canning and frozen food industry.

But use the freshest of the fresh, then add butter, add cream, add salt, add pepper and small miracles happen. Reader, we’ve been up to our neck in corn here recently, and even succotash, made with farmers market sweet corn, was good.

We put three recipes through their paces. In Mary Sue Milliken’s and Susan Feniger’s relish, day-fresh sweet corn brought a bright, sweet note, contrasting to the richness of the oil, avocado, vinegar and pepper.

Chowder was a revelation. This is usually made with canned corn and has a certain mushy, comforting quality, particularly as a hangover cure, invigorated by the soupcon of aluminum.

But make it with day-fresh sweet corn, bring down the cooking time and take a light hand with the cream, and you have flavors that are light, vibrant and uniquely summery.

But perhaps the biggest surprise is a succotash recipe from Jeremy Lee, Scottish head chef of the Blue Print Cafe in London. Lee is a mad keen bean cook. Sweet corn came to his attention because of the Latin habit of growing beans alongside corn and using the stalks as trellising.

After deciding to put them in the same pot, he recalls dimly having stolen the recipe from James Beard. In it, he not only spares us the school lunch ingredient of lima beans, he calls for super fresh corn, which holds up so well that one can finally understand why succotash was one of America’s defining dishes.

Southern California has the longest sweet corn season in the country. It starts in June and keeps coming through autumn. This may yet make great corn cooks of us. It gives us enough to cook with after we’ve sated ourselves on corn on the cob, grabbing ear after ear and greedily stripping them clean.


Avocado corn relish

At farmers markets, people don’t just buy sweet corn. They attack it. They rip back husks, jab thumbnails into sample kernels and wait for the plump grains to erupt with milk. The fresher the corn, the more furiously they rip and jab, rip and jab, as they form jealous piles of the select cobs and toss aside half-shucked rejects.

You won’t see this at a grocery store. There is plenty of perfectly respectable corn sold in these places but, often as not, it will be pre-shucked and shrouded in plastic wrap. At best, it will be 3 to 7 days old. This is no scandal. It will be more than edible, it will be good, a huge improvement on what was available only years ago.

Even so, it will have lost some of its crunch. The milk will have lost its freshness and the husk won’t have the aroma that makes buying corn at a farmers market the sensual equivalent of a deep snort of sunbaked grass.

The crop’s stubborn seasonality and perishability has made it one of the country’s few truly collective delicacies. Everyone has an opinion about how to cook it, or a technique for grilling, a thought about butter and salt, because everyone has craved that field-fresh taste. It has an almost paradoxical identity: It’s a universal luxury.

Luxury because although corn is our No. 1 crop, the vast majority isn’t sweet corn, it’s field corn. This is grown high, dried on the stalk, mowed down and processed dozens of ways into hundreds of products.

Sweet corn must be picked by hand. In Southern California, a small number of growers start planting in February and keep going all spring. Ears begin appearing in farmers markets in June, and a small but steady succession will keep coming throughout the summer.

The plants are marvels. The roots, stem and leaves suck up nutrients and water from the ground, and then, during photosynthesis, convert it to sugars. This is whisked off to ears for storage. As the plant grows, it focuses all of its energy on making ears.

There are usually two per plant. Inside them, husk leaves conceal row after row of tiny flowers. As these ready for pollination, silks appear from the end of the husk. At the top of the plant, the tassel appears.

When the plant is mature, it releases pollen, which is caught by the silks, carried into the ear and fertilizes the many rows of flowers, which become kernels, or corns. When you see corn with barren tips, it doesn’t mean a pest has got to your corn before you. It usually means inadequate pollination.

The corn is ready to eat when the silk begins to turn brown, but not the husk leaves. There is no time to waste: The corn must be caught at the peak of ripeness, before a built-in senescence tells the plant to stop growing. When this happens, the plant stops making sugar and sending it to the ears. Rather, sugar stored there is cued to become starch, to feed a seed through germination.

Pickers can see a ripe ear at a glance. Jeff Kelly has 30 acres of Jubilee super sweet corn in Chino. Throughout the summer, he has a crew of six to eight men harvesting every morning from 6 a.m. Within 24 hours, it will be in farmers markets.

Kelly says that he grows super sweet because it’s better than old-fashioned varieties. Until recently, the sugars turned to starch so quickly after picking, the “first boil the water, then pick your corn” adage was born.

But in the 1950s, an Illinois geneticist named John Laughnan realized that some lines of corn were inefficient at storing starch but exceptionally efficient at producing sugar. He began selecting the seeds and cross-breeding them.

Super sweet corn is so far removed from its wild ancestor, a tall Mexican grass called teosinte, that until recently, nobody was quite sure where domesticated sweet corn came from. But consensus now seems to be that ancient indigenous people systematically inbred teosinte, until it became modern corn. Some proponents of genetically modified corn even point to teosinte to support their work. Their argument: If you think the gene-splicing that Monsanto is up to is extreme, take a look at what the Aztecs did with this puppy.

Meanwhile, some heirloomists lament the demise of the sweet corn left obsolete by Laughnan. They yearn for plain old sweet corn. It tastes more like corn, less like sugar, they say.

Maybe, says Kelly, but his customers aren’t clamoring for starchy corn.

When it comes to white versus yellow corn, there’s no difference in flavor, says Neelima Sinha, a professor of plant biology at UC Davis. Nutritionally, colored corn might have the edge in beta carotene and other pigment-related plant nutrients.

In a perfect world, we would know more about all those wild corns between teosinte and super sweet. But our choice is supermarket super sweet or farmers market super sweet. We fall on the farmers markets corn because it’s got the edge not just on sweetness, but milky firmness and captivating grassy aromas.

It’s so good that there are those who insist that cooking it is a travesty. It should be eaten raw. Then there are those who will fix you with a supercilious look as you reach for the butter and salt and announce that they eat theirs straight from the pot.

Yep, it’s good straight from the pot.

But why not cook with corn at its best? By insisting that super fresh corn only be eaten near raw, we are relegating corn cookery to the canning and frozen food industry.

But use the freshest of the fresh, then add butter, add cream, add salt, add pepper and small miracles happen. Reader, we’ve been up to our neck in corn here recently, and even succotash, made with farmers market sweet corn, was good.

We put three recipes through their paces. In Mary Sue Milliken’s and Susan Feniger’s relish, day-fresh sweet corn brought a bright, sweet note, contrasting to the richness of the oil, avocado, vinegar and pepper.

Chowder was a revelation. This is usually made with canned corn and has a certain mushy, comforting quality, particularly as a hangover cure, invigorated by the soupcon of aluminum.

But make it with day-fresh sweet corn, bring down the cooking time and take a light hand with the cream, and you have flavors that are light, vibrant and uniquely summery.

But perhaps the biggest surprise is a succotash recipe from Jeremy Lee, Scottish head chef of the Blue Print Cafe in London. Lee is a mad keen bean cook. Sweet corn came to his attention because of the Latin habit of growing beans alongside corn and using the stalks as trellising.

After deciding to put them in the same pot, he recalls dimly having stolen the recipe from James Beard. In it, he not only spares us the school lunch ingredient of lima beans, he calls for super fresh corn, which holds up so well that one can finally understand why succotash was one of America’s defining dishes.

Southern California has the longest sweet corn season in the country. It starts in June and keeps coming through autumn. This may yet make great corn cooks of us. It gives us enough to cook with after we’ve sated ourselves on corn on the cob, grabbing ear after ear and greedily stripping them clean.


Avocado corn relish

At farmers markets, people don’t just buy sweet corn. They attack it. They rip back husks, jab thumbnails into sample kernels and wait for the plump grains to erupt with milk. The fresher the corn, the more furiously they rip and jab, rip and jab, as they form jealous piles of the select cobs and toss aside half-shucked rejects.

You won’t see this at a grocery store. There is plenty of perfectly respectable corn sold in these places but, often as not, it will be pre-shucked and shrouded in plastic wrap. At best, it will be 3 to 7 days old. This is no scandal. It will be more than edible, it will be good, a huge improvement on what was available only years ago.

Even so, it will have lost some of its crunch. The milk will have lost its freshness and the husk won’t have the aroma that makes buying corn at a farmers market the sensual equivalent of a deep snort of sunbaked grass.

The crop’s stubborn seasonality and perishability has made it one of the country’s few truly collective delicacies. Everyone has an opinion about how to cook it, or a technique for grilling, a thought about butter and salt, because everyone has craved that field-fresh taste. It has an almost paradoxical identity: It’s a universal luxury.

Luxury because although corn is our No. 1 crop, the vast majority isn’t sweet corn, it’s field corn. This is grown high, dried on the stalk, mowed down and processed dozens of ways into hundreds of products.

Sweet corn must be picked by hand. In Southern California, a small number of growers start planting in February and keep going all spring. Ears begin appearing in farmers markets in June, and a small but steady succession will keep coming throughout the summer.

The plants are marvels. The roots, stem and leaves suck up nutrients and water from the ground, and then, during photosynthesis, convert it to sugars. This is whisked off to ears for storage. As the plant grows, it focuses all of its energy on making ears.

There are usually two per plant. Inside them, husk leaves conceal row after row of tiny flowers. As these ready for pollination, silks appear from the end of the husk. At the top of the plant, the tassel appears.

When the plant is mature, it releases pollen, which is caught by the silks, carried into the ear and fertilizes the many rows of flowers, which become kernels, or corns. When you see corn with barren tips, it doesn’t mean a pest has got to your corn before you. It usually means inadequate pollination.

The corn is ready to eat when the silk begins to turn brown, but not the husk leaves. There is no time to waste: The corn must be caught at the peak of ripeness, before a built-in senescence tells the plant to stop growing. When this happens, the plant stops making sugar and sending it to the ears. Rather, sugar stored there is cued to become starch, to feed a seed through germination.

Pickers can see a ripe ear at a glance. Jeff Kelly has 30 acres of Jubilee super sweet corn in Chino. Throughout the summer, he has a crew of six to eight men harvesting every morning from 6 a.m. Within 24 hours, it will be in farmers markets.

Kelly says that he grows super sweet because it’s better than old-fashioned varieties. Until recently, the sugars turned to starch so quickly after picking, the “first boil the water, then pick your corn” adage was born.

But in the 1950s, an Illinois geneticist named John Laughnan realized that some lines of corn were inefficient at storing starch but exceptionally efficient at producing sugar. He began selecting the seeds and cross-breeding them.

Super sweet corn is so far removed from its wild ancestor, a tall Mexican grass called teosinte, that until recently, nobody was quite sure where domesticated sweet corn came from. But consensus now seems to be that ancient indigenous people systematically inbred teosinte, until it became modern corn. Some proponents of genetically modified corn even point to teosinte to support their work. Their argument: If you think the gene-splicing that Monsanto is up to is extreme, take a look at what the Aztecs did with this puppy.

Meanwhile, some heirloomists lament the demise of the sweet corn left obsolete by Laughnan. They yearn for plain old sweet corn. It tastes more like corn, less like sugar, they say.

Maybe, says Kelly, but his customers aren’t clamoring for starchy corn.

When it comes to white versus yellow corn, there’s no difference in flavor, says Neelima Sinha, a professor of plant biology at UC Davis. Nutritionally, colored corn might have the edge in beta carotene and other pigment-related plant nutrients.

In a perfect world, we would know more about all those wild corns between teosinte and super sweet. But our choice is supermarket super sweet or farmers market super sweet. We fall on the farmers markets corn because it’s got the edge not just on sweetness, but milky firmness and captivating grassy aromas.

It’s so good that there are those who insist that cooking it is a travesty. It should be eaten raw. Then there are those who will fix you with a supercilious look as you reach for the butter and salt and announce that they eat theirs straight from the pot.

Yep, it’s good straight from the pot.

But why not cook with corn at its best? By insisting that super fresh corn only be eaten near raw, we are relegating corn cookery to the canning and frozen food industry.

But use the freshest of the fresh, then add butter, add cream, add salt, add pepper and small miracles happen. Reader, we’ve been up to our neck in corn here recently, and even succotash, made with farmers market sweet corn, was good.

We put three recipes through their paces. In Mary Sue Milliken’s and Susan Feniger’s relish, day-fresh sweet corn brought a bright, sweet note, contrasting to the richness of the oil, avocado, vinegar and pepper.

Chowder was a revelation. This is usually made with canned corn and has a certain mushy, comforting quality, particularly as a hangover cure, invigorated by the soupcon of aluminum.

But make it with day-fresh sweet corn, bring down the cooking time and take a light hand with the cream, and you have flavors that are light, vibrant and uniquely summery.

But perhaps the biggest surprise is a succotash recipe from Jeremy Lee, Scottish head chef of the Blue Print Cafe in London. Lee is a mad keen bean cook. Sweet corn came to his attention because of the Latin habit of growing beans alongside corn and using the stalks as trellising.

After deciding to put them in the same pot, he recalls dimly having stolen the recipe from James Beard. In it, he not only spares us the school lunch ingredient of lima beans, he calls for super fresh corn, which holds up so well that one can finally understand why succotash was one of America’s defining dishes.

Southern California has the longest sweet corn season in the country. It starts in June and keeps coming through autumn. This may yet make great corn cooks of us. It gives us enough to cook with after we’ve sated ourselves on corn on the cob, grabbing ear after ear and greedily stripping them clean.


Avocado corn relish

At farmers markets, people don’t just buy sweet corn. They attack it. They rip back husks, jab thumbnails into sample kernels and wait for the plump grains to erupt with milk. The fresher the corn, the more furiously they rip and jab, rip and jab, as they form jealous piles of the select cobs and toss aside half-shucked rejects.

You won’t see this at a grocery store. There is plenty of perfectly respectable corn sold in these places but, often as not, it will be pre-shucked and shrouded in plastic wrap. At best, it will be 3 to 7 days old. This is no scandal. It will be more than edible, it will be good, a huge improvement on what was available only years ago.

Even so, it will have lost some of its crunch. The milk will have lost its freshness and the husk won’t have the aroma that makes buying corn at a farmers market the sensual equivalent of a deep snort of sunbaked grass.

The crop’s stubborn seasonality and perishability has made it one of the country’s few truly collective delicacies. Everyone has an opinion about how to cook it, or a technique for grilling, a thought about butter and salt, because everyone has craved that field-fresh taste. It has an almost paradoxical identity: It’s a universal luxury.

Luxury because although corn is our No. 1 crop, the vast majority isn’t sweet corn, it’s field corn. This is grown high, dried on the stalk, mowed down and processed dozens of ways into hundreds of products.

Sweet corn must be picked by hand. In Southern California, a small number of growers start planting in February and keep going all spring. Ears begin appearing in farmers markets in June, and a small but steady succession will keep coming throughout the summer.

The plants are marvels. The roots, stem and leaves suck up nutrients and water from the ground, and then, during photosynthesis, convert it to sugars. This is whisked off to ears for storage. As the plant grows, it focuses all of its energy on making ears.

There are usually two per plant. Inside them, husk leaves conceal row after row of tiny flowers. As these ready for pollination, silks appear from the end of the husk. At the top of the plant, the tassel appears.

When the plant is mature, it releases pollen, which is caught by the silks, carried into the ear and fertilizes the many rows of flowers, which become kernels, or corns. When you see corn with barren tips, it doesn’t mean a pest has got to your corn before you. It usually means inadequate pollination.

The corn is ready to eat when the silk begins to turn brown, but not the husk leaves. There is no time to waste: The corn must be caught at the peak of ripeness, before a built-in senescence tells the plant to stop growing. When this happens, the plant stops making sugar and sending it to the ears. Rather, sugar stored there is cued to become starch, to feed a seed through germination.

Pickers can see a ripe ear at a glance. Jeff Kelly has 30 acres of Jubilee super sweet corn in Chino. Throughout the summer, he has a crew of six to eight men harvesting every morning from 6 a.m. Within 24 hours, it will be in farmers markets.

Kelly says that he grows super sweet because it’s better than old-fashioned varieties. Until recently, the sugars turned to starch so quickly after picking, the “first boil the water, then pick your corn” adage was born.

But in the 1950s, an Illinois geneticist named John Laughnan realized that some lines of corn were inefficient at storing starch but exceptionally efficient at producing sugar. He began selecting the seeds and cross-breeding them.

Super sweet corn is so far removed from its wild ancestor, a tall Mexican grass called teosinte, that until recently, nobody was quite sure where domesticated sweet corn came from. But consensus now seems to be that ancient indigenous people systematically inbred teosinte, until it became modern corn. Some proponents of genetically modified corn even point to teosinte to support their work. Their argument: If you think the gene-splicing that Monsanto is up to is extreme, take a look at what the Aztecs did with this puppy.

Meanwhile, some heirloomists lament the demise of the sweet corn left obsolete by Laughnan. They yearn for plain old sweet corn. It tastes more like corn, less like sugar, they say.

Maybe, says Kelly, but his customers aren’t clamoring for starchy corn.

When it comes to white versus yellow corn, there’s no difference in flavor, says Neelima Sinha, a professor of plant biology at UC Davis. Nutritionally, colored corn might have the edge in beta carotene and other pigment-related plant nutrients.

In a perfect world, we would know more about all those wild corns between teosinte and super sweet. But our choice is supermarket super sweet or farmers market super sweet. We fall on the farmers markets corn because it’s got the edge not just on sweetness, but milky firmness and captivating grassy aromas.

It’s so good that there are those who insist that cooking it is a travesty. It should be eaten raw. Then there are those who will fix you with a supercilious look as you reach for the butter and salt and announce that they eat theirs straight from the pot.

Yep, it’s good straight from the pot.

But why not cook with corn at its best? By insisting that super fresh corn only be eaten near raw, we are relegating corn cookery to the canning and frozen food industry.

But use the freshest of the fresh, then add butter, add cream, add salt, add pepper and small miracles happen. Reader, we’ve been up to our neck in corn here recently, and even succotash, made with farmers market sweet corn, was good.

We put three recipes through their paces. In Mary Sue Milliken’s and Susan Feniger’s relish, day-fresh sweet corn brought a bright, sweet note, contrasting to the richness of the oil, avocado, vinegar and pepper.

Chowder was a revelation. This is usually made with canned corn and has a certain mushy, comforting quality, particularly as a hangover cure, invigorated by the soupcon of aluminum.

But make it with day-fresh sweet corn, bring down the cooking time and take a light hand with the cream, and you have flavors that are light, vibrant and uniquely summery.

But perhaps the biggest surprise is a succotash recipe from Jeremy Lee, Scottish head chef of the Blue Print Cafe in London. Lee is a mad keen bean cook. Sweet corn came to his attention because of the Latin habit of growing beans alongside corn and using the stalks as trellising.

After deciding to put them in the same pot, he recalls dimly having stolen the recipe from James Beard. In it, he not only spares us the school lunch ingredient of lima beans, he calls for super fresh corn, which holds up so well that one can finally understand why succotash was one of America’s defining dishes.

Southern California has the longest sweet corn season in the country. It starts in June and keeps coming through autumn. This may yet make great corn cooks of us. It gives us enough to cook with after we’ve sated ourselves on corn on the cob, grabbing ear after ear and greedily stripping them clean.


Avocado corn relish

At farmers markets, people don’t just buy sweet corn. They attack it. They rip back husks, jab thumbnails into sample kernels and wait for the plump grains to erupt with milk. The fresher the corn, the more furiously they rip and jab, rip and jab, as they form jealous piles of the select cobs and toss aside half-shucked rejects.

You won’t see this at a grocery store. There is plenty of perfectly respectable corn sold in these places but, often as not, it will be pre-shucked and shrouded in plastic wrap. At best, it will be 3 to 7 days old. This is no scandal. It will be more than edible, it will be good, a huge improvement on what was available only years ago.

Even so, it will have lost some of its crunch. The milk will have lost its freshness and the husk won’t have the aroma that makes buying corn at a farmers market the sensual equivalent of a deep snort of sunbaked grass.

The crop’s stubborn seasonality and perishability has made it one of the country’s few truly collective delicacies. Everyone has an opinion about how to cook it, or a technique for grilling, a thought about butter and salt, because everyone has craved that field-fresh taste. It has an almost paradoxical identity: It’s a universal luxury.

Luxury because although corn is our No. 1 crop, the vast majority isn’t sweet corn, it’s field corn. This is grown high, dried on the stalk, mowed down and processed dozens of ways into hundreds of products.

Sweet corn must be picked by hand. In Southern California, a small number of growers start planting in February and keep going all spring. Ears begin appearing in farmers markets in June, and a small but steady succession will keep coming throughout the summer.

The plants are marvels. The roots, stem and leaves suck up nutrients and water from the ground, and then, during photosynthesis, convert it to sugars. This is whisked off to ears for storage. As the plant grows, it focuses all of its energy on making ears.

There are usually two per plant. Inside them, husk leaves conceal row after row of tiny flowers. As these ready for pollination, silks appear from the end of the husk. At the top of the plant, the tassel appears.

When the plant is mature, it releases pollen, which is caught by the silks, carried into the ear and fertilizes the many rows of flowers, which become kernels, or corns. When you see corn with barren tips, it doesn’t mean a pest has got to your corn before you. It usually means inadequate pollination.

The corn is ready to eat when the silk begins to turn brown, but not the husk leaves. There is no time to waste: The corn must be caught at the peak of ripeness, before a built-in senescence tells the plant to stop growing. When this happens, the plant stops making sugar and sending it to the ears. Rather, sugar stored there is cued to become starch, to feed a seed through germination.

Pickers can see a ripe ear at a glance. Jeff Kelly has 30 acres of Jubilee super sweet corn in Chino. Throughout the summer, he has a crew of six to eight men harvesting every morning from 6 a.m. Within 24 hours, it will be in farmers markets.

Kelly says that he grows super sweet because it’s better than old-fashioned varieties. Until recently, the sugars turned to starch so quickly after picking, the “first boil the water, then pick your corn” adage was born.

But in the 1950s, an Illinois geneticist named John Laughnan realized that some lines of corn were inefficient at storing starch but exceptionally efficient at producing sugar. He began selecting the seeds and cross-breeding them.

Super sweet corn is so far removed from its wild ancestor, a tall Mexican grass called teosinte, that until recently, nobody was quite sure where domesticated sweet corn came from. But consensus now seems to be that ancient indigenous people systematically inbred teosinte, until it became modern corn. Some proponents of genetically modified corn even point to teosinte to support their work. Their argument: If you think the gene-splicing that Monsanto is up to is extreme, take a look at what the Aztecs did with this puppy.

Meanwhile, some heirloomists lament the demise of the sweet corn left obsolete by Laughnan. They yearn for plain old sweet corn. It tastes more like corn, less like sugar, they say.

Maybe, says Kelly, but his customers aren’t clamoring for starchy corn.

When it comes to white versus yellow corn, there’s no difference in flavor, says Neelima Sinha, a professor of plant biology at UC Davis. Nutritionally, colored corn might have the edge in beta carotene and other pigment-related plant nutrients.

In a perfect world, we would know more about all those wild corns between teosinte and super sweet. But our choice is supermarket super sweet or farmers market super sweet. We fall on the farmers markets corn because it’s got the edge not just on sweetness, but milky firmness and captivating grassy aromas.

It’s so good that there are those who insist that cooking it is a travesty. It should be eaten raw. Then there are those who will fix you with a supercilious look as you reach for the butter and salt and announce that they eat theirs straight from the pot.

Yep, it’s good straight from the pot.

But why not cook with corn at its best? By insisting that super fresh corn only be eaten near raw, we are relegating corn cookery to the canning and frozen food industry.

But use the freshest of the fresh, then add butter, add cream, add salt, add pepper and small miracles happen. Reader, we’ve been up to our neck in corn here recently, and even succotash, made with farmers market sweet corn, was good.

We put three recipes through their paces. In Mary Sue Milliken’s and Susan Feniger’s relish, day-fresh sweet corn brought a bright, sweet note, contrasting to the richness of the oil, avocado, vinegar and pepper.

Chowder was a revelation. This is usually made with canned corn and has a certain mushy, comforting quality, particularly as a hangover cure, invigorated by the soupcon of aluminum.

But make it with day-fresh sweet corn, bring down the cooking time and take a light hand with the cream, and you have flavors that are light, vibrant and uniquely summery.

But perhaps the biggest surprise is a succotash recipe from Jeremy Lee, Scottish head chef of the Blue Print Cafe in London. Lee is a mad keen bean cook. Sweet corn came to his attention because of the Latin habit of growing beans alongside corn and using the stalks as trellising.

After deciding to put them in the same pot, he recalls dimly having stolen the recipe from James Beard. In it, he not only spares us the school lunch ingredient of lima beans, he calls for super fresh corn, which holds up so well that one can finally understand why succotash was one of America’s defining dishes.

Southern California has the longest sweet corn season in the country. It starts in June and keeps coming through autumn. This may yet make great corn cooks of us. It gives us enough to cook with after we’ve sated ourselves on corn on the cob, grabbing ear after ear and greedily stripping them clean.


Avocado corn relish

At farmers markets, people don’t just buy sweet corn. They attack it. They rip back husks, jab thumbnails into sample kernels and wait for the plump grains to erupt with milk. The fresher the corn, the more furiously they rip and jab, rip and jab, as they form jealous piles of the select cobs and toss aside half-shucked rejects.

You won’t see this at a grocery store. There is plenty of perfectly respectable corn sold in these places but, often as not, it will be pre-shucked and shrouded in plastic wrap. At best, it will be 3 to 7 days old. This is no scandal. It will be more than edible, it will be good, a huge improvement on what was available only years ago.

Even so, it will have lost some of its crunch. The milk will have lost its freshness and the husk won’t have the aroma that makes buying corn at a farmers market the sensual equivalent of a deep snort of sunbaked grass.

The crop’s stubborn seasonality and perishability has made it one of the country’s few truly collective delicacies. Everyone has an opinion about how to cook it, or a technique for grilling, a thought about butter and salt, because everyone has craved that field-fresh taste. It has an almost paradoxical identity: It’s a universal luxury.

Luxury because although corn is our No. 1 crop, the vast majority isn’t sweet corn, it’s field corn. This is grown high, dried on the stalk, mowed down and processed dozens of ways into hundreds of products.

Sweet corn must be picked by hand. In Southern California, a small number of growers start planting in February and keep going all spring. Ears begin appearing in farmers markets in June, and a small but steady succession will keep coming throughout the summer.

The plants are marvels. The roots, stem and leaves suck up nutrients and water from the ground, and then, during photosynthesis, convert it to sugars. This is whisked off to ears for storage. As the plant grows, it focuses all of its energy on making ears.

There are usually two per plant. Inside them, husk leaves conceal row after row of tiny flowers. As these ready for pollination, silks appear from the end of the husk. At the top of the plant, the tassel appears.

When the plant is mature, it releases pollen, which is caught by the silks, carried into the ear and fertilizes the many rows of flowers, which become kernels, or corns. When you see corn with barren tips, it doesn’t mean a pest has got to your corn before you. It usually means inadequate pollination.

The corn is ready to eat when the silk begins to turn brown, but not the husk leaves. There is no time to waste: The corn must be caught at the peak of ripeness, before a built-in senescence tells the plant to stop growing. When this happens, the plant stops making sugar and sending it to the ears. Rather, sugar stored there is cued to become starch, to feed a seed through germination.

Pickers can see a ripe ear at a glance. Jeff Kelly has 30 acres of Jubilee super sweet corn in Chino. Throughout the summer, he has a crew of six to eight men harvesting every morning from 6 a.m. Within 24 hours, it will be in farmers markets.

Kelly says that he grows super sweet because it’s better than old-fashioned varieties. Until recently, the sugars turned to starch so quickly after picking, the “first boil the water, then pick your corn” adage was born.

But in the 1950s, an Illinois geneticist named John Laughnan realized that some lines of corn were inefficient at storing starch but exceptionally efficient at producing sugar. He began selecting the seeds and cross-breeding them.

Super sweet corn is so far removed from its wild ancestor, a tall Mexican grass called teosinte, that until recently, nobody was quite sure where domesticated sweet corn came from. But consensus now seems to be that ancient indigenous people systematically inbred teosinte, until it became modern corn. Some proponents of genetically modified corn even point to teosinte to support their work. Their argument: If you think the gene-splicing that Monsanto is up to is extreme, take a look at what the Aztecs did with this puppy.

Meanwhile, some heirloomists lament the demise of the sweet corn left obsolete by Laughnan. They yearn for plain old sweet corn. It tastes more like corn, less like sugar, they say.

Maybe, says Kelly, but his customers aren’t clamoring for starchy corn.

When it comes to white versus yellow corn, there’s no difference in flavor, says Neelima Sinha, a professor of plant biology at UC Davis. Nutritionally, colored corn might have the edge in beta carotene and other pigment-related plant nutrients.

In a perfect world, we would know more about all those wild corns between teosinte and super sweet. But our choice is supermarket super sweet or farmers market super sweet. We fall on the farmers markets corn because it’s got the edge not just on sweetness, but milky firmness and captivating grassy aromas.

It’s so good that there are those who insist that cooking it is a travesty. It should be eaten raw. Then there are those who will fix you with a supercilious look as you reach for the butter and salt and announce that they eat theirs straight from the pot.

Yep, it’s good straight from the pot.

But why not cook with corn at its best? By insisting that super fresh corn only be eaten near raw, we are relegating corn cookery to the canning and frozen food industry.

But use the freshest of the fresh, then add butter, add cream, add salt, add pepper and small miracles happen. Reader, we’ve been up to our neck in corn here recently, and even succotash, made with farmers market sweet corn, was good.

We put three recipes through their paces. In Mary Sue Milliken’s and Susan Feniger’s relish, day-fresh sweet corn brought a bright, sweet note, contrasting to the richness of the oil, avocado, vinegar and pepper.

Chowder was a revelation. This is usually made with canned corn and has a certain mushy, comforting quality, particularly as a hangover cure, invigorated by the soupcon of aluminum.

But make it with day-fresh sweet corn, bring down the cooking time and take a light hand with the cream, and you have flavors that are light, vibrant and uniquely summery.

But perhaps the biggest surprise is a succotash recipe from Jeremy Lee, Scottish head chef of the Blue Print Cafe in London. Lee is a mad keen bean cook. Sweet corn came to his attention because of the Latin habit of growing beans alongside corn and using the stalks as trellising.

After deciding to put them in the same pot, he recalls dimly having stolen the recipe from James Beard. In it, he not only spares us the school lunch ingredient of lima beans, he calls for super fresh corn, which holds up so well that one can finally understand why succotash was one of America’s defining dishes.

Southern California has the longest sweet corn season in the country. It starts in June and keeps coming through autumn. This may yet make great corn cooks of us. It gives us enough to cook with after we’ve sated ourselves on corn on the cob, grabbing ear after ear and greedily stripping them clean.


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