July

The Mrs got a call from her sister on Saturday, asking if she could mind the store while some errands were run. The Sister in Law has a deal going at the local farmers market, where she sells her home grown garlic and assorted other trinkets. Sutton Family Roots is what she sells by, and is a hit with her braided garlic and painted bags. She is a talented gal that sings, paints and all sorts of things. The rest of the family kind of considered her a tad eccentric, but that kind of thing sells big these day, so what did we know anyway.

My Honey came home with a couple of tomatoes and a half dozen ears of sweet corn. July to me means mosquito bites, BLTs and corn on the cob, pretty much in that order. Minnesota in the summer, is known by how big and how many mosquitos you see, when you are picking the tomatoes and corn out in the garden. I love BLTs and it just ain’t right not having at least one a week during the hot months. Being we are leaving Kansas (we think) about harvest time, the farmers market guys and gals get bit so we can buy their trauma free produce.

It’s not all fun and games when it comes to summer eating with me. My dear Mother came from all German stock. Somewhere down the line, somebody married somebody, and that somebody had a tender palette. What I mean is my Mother and I suffered from vicious toast, gnarly bacon and acidy tomatoes, to the point of having shreds of your upper palette hanging down like so many meat stalactites. Yah, I know, TMI, just setting the stage.

So, she gets to fixin’ it up, a double whammy of BLT and corn on the cob. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times as the saying goes. I was really looking forward to hurting a lot. The old fashioned way of eating corn on the cob is to put your water on to boil, and go out and pick and husk the ears, quickly, because their maximum freshness and flavor is measured in minutes after it comes off the stalk. I or my wife are not elitist snobs about corn. Heck, we eat it a day or two after it gets home. The corn mafia also says butter and salt, is the only way to eat it. I used to go by that, cause my family ate it that way and didn’t know any better. Saw somebody put chili powder on roasted ears of corn a while back, and now that’s mandatory for every corn session. It brings corn to a whole new level. Makes a mess of your upper lip pretty good too.

Corn-Ready

While the wife was bustling about the kitchen, I glanced outside and noticed our domestic grounds staff whooping it up in the front deck. Since my dear Sweet Pea has moved out, our collared lizards have been having a grand ole time. Precocious little tykes. You can walk right by them, and they will just cock their head and watch you go past. We’ve also established that July is their mating season, the male turns green and the female turns kinda cranky. When I looked outside, the male and female were squared off. I thought about getting the camera, but this is a family blog and if you want to learn about the birds and bees, go ask your Dad. Suffice to say that lizard whoopy is akin to All Star Wrestling with a little Roller Derby thrown in. I needed to have a beer after watching that, which worked out, cause lunch was served.

My wife sometimes has trouble with portion control, or just an impish sense of humor that comes with serving food. She loads up a man sized BLT, it took up a good bit of real estate on the plate, and then tries to add 2 ears of corn. Whoa, dang it! Those two food things can’t touch each other… ah, never mind. I just need to focus on one thing at a time, BLT first.

It was divine. We still have our homemade bacon and that with a fresh tomato and toast that came from just baked bread and, I’ve got to change the subject, my mouth is watering just writing about it. Anyway, got it down the hatch and started on the corn. Sweet, tender, hot as hell and loaded with butter, salt and chili powder. I tore into that, and I really should wear a large napkin or something. There was corn shrapnel all over the place.

Corn-Done

Miss I Must Have a Salad was having some weird bacon, lettuce, tomato and buffalo wing sauce conglomeration that didn’t fly my kite at all, if you know what I mean. She was making noises like maybe she put too much Louisiana hot sauce on her deal, but I was still wiping corn off myself and wasn’t paying too much attention. Corn will pack into your teeth like, well corn, and I was thinking I might need an intervention by my dear, sweet dental hygienist, Jessica, but I muscled though it with my tooth pick. About the time my tongue had made its third pass around I noticed an absence of pain, no damage to the upper palette. I sat back and wondered if this meant I had finally grown up. Nah. I get up to get another tooth pick and the Mrs is saying her mouth is on fire. I raised my eyebrows in an “Oh?” response. She said, “You wanta see?” I said “See??” so she sashayed over to me and threw a lip lock on me like you couldn’t believe. She’s always told me she’s part French. I think it’s more than part. Her mouth was hot.

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