Blistered

As  restrictions loosen and we adjust to our ever changing new normal, it's time to think about firing up the grill for those backyard cookouts and barbecues. Things will be different. Very different. Although masked up at safe distances, it's still a time to be together and (most importantly) climb out of our bunkers for fresh air. And there's no better air than sweet smoky barbecued  air. It's grilling season. Barbecue season. Corn season.

Few things set my heart aflutter more  than the first sight of  roadside corn stands spilling over with fresh corn or when the first fresh ears hit the local farmers markets. Corn season is summer slathered in butter.

Typically, when corn starts rolling in, I channel my grandmother and keeps things simple. Boiled with

butter, fried in bacon fat, or creamed with scraped-from-the-cob- milk juices are my go to preps. Simple. Pure. Fabulous. Eventually, I branch out into crazy land with deep fried corn on the cob, pureed fresh corn grits, corn puddings, and spoon breads. That said,  I will forever be enamored with grilled corn. It hits every note. Smoky. Sweet. Crunchy. Soft. Once grilled, the possibilities are endless. Whether smeared with butter for a traditional take, slathered in mayo, dusted with chili powder, and sprinkled with cojita for a Mexican street corn spin, or sliced off the cobs for easier bites, grilled corn is everything.

So, go ahead, fire up the grill. Load it up with barbecued ribs, chicken, burgers, and dogs. Slather everything in sauce. Just remember, the sides are key. They're the reason for the season. And while fresh vegetables and salads  keep things civilized, grilled summer corn bridges the gap between beauty and brawn.

Blistered Corn Fritters with Quick Kentucky Chow Chow
Unlike dense corn cakes flecked with corn, these airy cakes are filled with smoky grilled corn lightly bound in batter and are more fritter than cake. Teetering on the edge of precious, they can masquerade as delicate finger food. Or, better yet, they can be swiped through sticky barbecue drippings to keep it real. After all, that's what summer's all about.


Quick Chow Kentucky Chow.
Whether purchased or scratch made, I am never without a jar of chow chow on hand. Can't imagine soup beans and cornbread without chow chow. Sweet, spicy, tart, and crunchy, it's the ultimate southern relish.

Most chow chows are processed and canned for preservation to last over the long winter months. Quick pickled with a 2 or 3 week refrigerated shelf life, there are no long winter months in the waiting with this chow chow.

After grating 2 cups Rolling Blue farm cabbage into a large bowl, I added 1 cup rolling Blue Farm diced green tomatoes, 1 cup sliced Stonehedge green onions, and 1 cup diced red bell pepper. I tossed the vegetables with 1 tablespoon kosher salt, covered them with plastic wrap,  and slid them into the refrigerator to macerate overnight.

Once softened from the salt bath, I drained the vegetables and set them aside.
Working over a medium flame, I toasted 2 teaspoons mustard seeds, 1 teaspoon whole black Tellicherry peppercorns, 2 tablespoons whole allspice berries, and 1 tablespoon coriander seeds. When the seeds started to pop, I hit the pan with 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar, 1 cup water,  and 1/2 cup sugar. When the sugar dissolved, I added the reserved vegetables along with 1 teaspoon ground mustard, 1 teaspoon ground ginger, and 1 teaspoon ground turmeric. I brought the chow chow to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, and let it rip for 1 1/2 hours ( stirring occasionally and adding water when needed) until it thickened before pulling it from the heat. When cooled, I slid the chow chow into the refrigerator to chill.

 Fire.
Corn can be grilled with or without the husks. When grilled in their pre-soaked husks, the corn steams while picking up subtle smoky notes. When grilled without the husks, it blisters and chars from the smoky heat, hammering home a deeper flavor. I love and do both. For these finger sucking  fritters, I wanted blistered crunchy corn.

After pulling the husks away from the cobs for easier handling, I scrubbed the silks from the ears, brushed the ears with vegetable oil, slid them onto a hot grill, turned them from time to time until they started to blister, and  pulled them from the grill. When they were cool enough to handle, I sliced the corn from the cobs, stirred a cup of the grilled corn into the reserved chow chow, and set the remainder aside.

While the grill was still hot, I tossed a few Stonehedge green onions over the fire to wilt and char before pulling them off and slicing them into whisper thin ribbons.

Batter up.
I use one basic cornbread recipe for everything. It works with any kind of cornmeal and never fails. It's great for skillet cornbread, corn muffins, corn cakes, hush puppies, and old fashioned cornbread salad.

After sifting 1 cup Weisenberger Mill all purpose flour and 2 tablespoons baking powder into a mixing bowl, I added 1 cup Weienberger Mill plain yellow cornmeal, 4 tablespoons sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, 4 tablespoons vegetable oil, 2/3 cups milk (or buttermilk), and 2 beaten eggs. I folded 1 1/2 cups of the reserved grilled corn into the batter, and gently mixed the batter until combined before setting  it aside for 10 minutes to rest.

Working over a medium flame, I brought 1/4 cup vegetable to the edge of smoking in a large cast iron skillet.  When the oil sizzled around the end of a wooden spoon ( a grandmother trick), I spooned 1/4 cups  batter into the oil, spacing the fritters  about 3 inches apart.  When the batter settled into the hot oil and started to set, I twirled a few of the reserved grilled green onions over the cakes before carefully flipping them over and gently patting them down. As each batch crisped up and browned on both sides, I pulled them the skillet and set them aside. After brushing the tops with a smidgen of melted butter, I dusted them with sea salt, and finished each corn fritter with a puckery kiss of chow chow.

Suspended in the crisped batter, the corn popped with a smoky sweetness that played off the spiced sweet/tart crunch of the chilled chow chow.

Blistered corn fritters.
Keep it real.

And get your grill on.

Butter Up

When my family left our housekeepers and nannies behind for our final move back to America, my father faced a steep learning curve when it came to raising two young boys as a single military father. After leaving Africa, we settled into a very middle class suburb of Washington D.C. for a brief period while my father segued into retirement  We lived in a tiny two-story brick house with a dilapidated screened-in side porch, a dusty back yard surrounded by a chain link fence, and a musty basement that smelled of unhappy swamp frogs. We were living the dream.

Nested in our urban oasis, without others to watch over and tend to us, my father relied on gadgets and convenience foods to ease his transition into domestic bliss.  A freezer filled with  TV dinners, cabinets stocked with multiple jars of swirled peanut butter and jelly, and individually boxed cereal variety packs stacked high on top of the refrigerator gave him enough wiggle room to focus on the few things he enjoyed cooking.  Armed with a plastic Veg-A-Matic to chop onions for his onion-studded cheese-filled hamburgers, a spiffy modern charcoal grill for butter grilled steaks, and a lethal old school pressure cooker for his infamous scratch made baked beans, he had everything he needed to tackle his big three.

While the occasional steaks and burgers were a nice respite from the revolving routine of TV dinners, I lived for his dreamy baked beans. Funny, they really weren't baked at all. They were pressurized. Sealed inside the hissing molten pressure pot for what seemed like hours, the beans bubbled away until they steamed, collapsed, and caramelized into a sticky sweet mess of tender beans with crunchy bits studded with meltingly soft shards of candied pork. I guess that sensory taste and memory stuck. However they're prepared, I'm a sucker for baked beans.

Our farmers markets are taking off just when grilling season is knocking at the door. Stock up on the bounty, fire up the grill,
and don't forget the baked beans.

Bourbon Barbecued Baked Butter Beans. 
Yep. Sometimes it's fun to change things up a bit.

I still have my father's 1960's vintage aluminum pressure cooker. Nope. Didn't go there. Think about it.

Baked, not pressurized.

I soaked 1 pound organic dried baby butter beans in water overnight, drained the water, added the beans back into the pot with 6 cups cold water, cranked the heat to high, reduced the heat, let the beans simmer for 1 1/2 hours, drained them, discarded the cooking liquid, and set the beans aside.

I sliced 1/4 pound Bell County pork jowl bacon into 1/4" thick slices and sauteed them in a cast iron skillet until the fat started to melt. When the jowl bacon crisped around the edges, I scooped the pieces onto a side plate. While the oil was still hot, I tumbled 1 diced green bell pepper and 1 bunch sliced Boyd County spring onions into the skillet. When the vegetables wilted from the heat, I added 3 tablespoons tomato paste, browned the paste for depth of flavor, carefully deglazed the skillet with 1/2 cup Makers Mark bourbon, and let it reduce by half before adding 1/4 cup brewed coffee, 2 cups Elmwood Stock Homemade Tomato Ketchup, 1/3 cup molasses, 1/4 cup worcestershire sauce, 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar, 3/4 cups dark brown sugar, 2 tablespoons dijon mustard, 1 tablespoon chili powder, 1 teaspoon cumin, cracked black pepper, garlic powder, and smoked sea salt. I brought the sauce to a spitting popping boil, reduced the heat and let it simmer for 30 minutes.

After mixing the reserved butter beans with the bourbon barbecue sauce, I scooped them into my oiled Bybee Pottery Appalachian cazuela. I nestled halved batons of trimmed Boyd County spring onions into the beans, tucked the reserved sliced bacon pieces between the onions, and slid the cazuela (uncovered) into a preheated 325 degree oven. for 2 1/2 hours, adding a splash of water now and then when they appeared dry.

I pulled the bubbling beans from the oven and let them cool before finishing with feathery ribbons of curled spring onions.

Tucked beneath the caramelized crust, the mellowed bright undertones of bourbon, vinegar, and worcestershire cut through the fatty richness of the lickable sticky sauce. With a nod to the familiar flavor profile of smoky sweet pork-infused saltiness, the butter beans packed a soft buttery punch that countered the crunch of the candied bacon and grassy freshness of the slivered spring onions.

Unexpected.
Familiar.
Fabulous.