Pop

I spent most of my time tripping over ornamental gourds at the farmers' market a few days ago. They were everywhere, gingerly stacked in piles throughout the market with occasional drifters falling from the stacks and rolling onto the graval pathways. Futball, anyone?  Generally,  Michael and I are not ones to display  atumnal cornucopias, so I wasn't really there  for decorative items.

I bagged the usual suspects;  a few ears of fresh corn, Stayman apples, black brandywine tomatoes (the last two) and  candy onions. While passing the Elmwood Stock Farm stand,  I was drawn in by the glorious colors of the final neon swiss chard of the season. I was surprised to see it and had to have it. While paying for the chard,  I took a second glance at what appeared to be yet another basket of decorative dried corn cobs. Nope. The basket, half emptied, displayed organic corn on the cob popping corn.  Really? 

Intrigued.

After asking a ton of questions about the popping reliablity of the corn, I was finally  told by the vendor that they  usually quickly sell out of it because kids love it. "*Yummy flavor. *Shell off cob and cook in pan on stove."  Where's the fun in that?

I had a different plan.

 A couple of nights ago, after having a few glasses of wine with Michael before dinner, I put my plan into action.

After removing the dramatic flared corn husks, I rubbed the cobs with olive oil and dropped them into a trimmed brown paper grocery bag. I rolled up the bag, leaving enough room for the popcorn bounty, and nestled it into our microwave.  After setting the timer for two minutes, I pushed start and waited for the fun to begin.

Nothing happened. Great.  Sucker. I fell for the pitch...or,  I didn't "shell of cob..."

I stuck the bag back into the microwave, set the timer for an additional two minutes, and started slicing leeks.

Pop.

Before I knew it, the brown paper bag was hopping around the microwave from eratic popping exposions. Well, hello Mr. Redenbacher. It was hysterical. 

I called Michael into the kitchen, pulled the bag from the microwave, ripped the bag open, and doused the popped kernels with salt. Like giddy children, we stuffed handfuls into our mouths.

It. Was. Fabulous.

We could have snacked on all of it, but I reserved some as a garnish for our cheddar ale soup made with Boone Creek Creamery aged Darby Cheddar Cheese and Leinenkugel's Fire Side Nut Brown Ale.

The soup was great, but the popped corn stole our hearts.  It didn't taste like puffed air.  It had an earthy  honest essence.

Michael summed it up perfectly when he simply said, " It tastes like corn."

Indeed.