Eight ears of corn

This week's farm box reflected our recent global warming weather: three large tomatoes, a bag of grapes, a canteloupe, and a melon. One long cucumber. A few small heads of garlic. And eight ears of poorly pollinated corn. This is the farm's descriptor, not mine. The heatwave that baked California in July shriveled the corn silk, causing erratically pollinated ears. The farm doled them out to us, apologetic, suggesting we try them anyway. I ate one last night. It looked awful, the silks sticky, going every which way, the kernels small and irregular. But it did indeed taste fine.

So tonight's dinner will reflect the need to use up the corn before its sweetness turns to starch. We are also in possession of three large zucchini, those bland, inescapable summer veggies.

I am not an adventurous zucchini cooker. I slice them, toss them in a pan with butter and garlic, and let them carmelize. At this time of year, when we are lucky enough to be glutted with corn and tomatoes, I slice everything up and cook it all together into summer vegetable stew. Sometimes I add a little white wine or a couple cubes of the chicken broth I keep frozen in ice cube trays.

Tonight's meal, then, will be the innocent corn, reflecting so much that is wrong with global environmental policy, zucchini, tomato, and garlic stewed in wine, broth, and butter. Braised duck legs with potatoes. Sourdough scones, leftover from last week's sourdough starter resurrection. Muga Rioja, a light Spanish rose that pairs well with poultry and game.

And then it's back to the work week.

Sigh.

Food, Cooking, Environment