Corn Fritters
Mary Ann was the name of the farmer at the end of my old street and it’s also the name of my biological mother. Summer through autumn, Mary Ann’s farm helped feed me and my friends, family, and neighborhood.
With every forkful of fresh food, I was thankful for Mary Ann’s hard work. I remember my mother Mary Ann feeding us in this way, too: handing over crumpled dollar bills at egg farms and corn stands and rickety vegetable tables, and with cucumbers and squash from our own front yard.
One day Mary Ann my then farmer/neighbor was selling Silver Queen corn, the first ears of the season.
Back then I stopped by the stand every day or two, armed with cash and change, and make dinner from what looked good. When my first-grader was with me she was in charge of plunging our shaggy money into the lockbox using a heavy metal ramrod chained to the stand. We frequented Mary Ann’s dinner-inspiring array for five years, and each time McKenna led me around the back of the stand to examine where the money went. She asked, “What makes the box robber-proof?” and, “Why would anyone want to steal?”
Once she started to read, we read this sign together:
“What does that mean?” my daughter asked. It means, Mary Ann is a farmer, and she makes her living by what she sells here at this stand, and she is asking people to pay for the food they take.
One day I stopped in, grateful that Mary Ann’s radio was on at the stand as usual, so that I miss only a few seconds of the news. A white shuttle van was pulled over past the stand, flashers blinking, and a slight woman was bagging ears of corn. I headed for the berries and greens. One was usually alone at the stand, although occasionally there was another customer, rarely two.
Here is what happened: I was feeling up the peaches (at a buck and a half each, you want perfection). The skinny lady huffed, jabbed her hand into her pocket, retrieved coins, and loudly tossed change in the canister, the jangle of which sounded like it was maybe seventy-five cents.
I watched her walk away with four ears of corn ($.50/ea). I looked over at the corn area and there was a double-thick paper shopping bag filled with tomatoes and more corn and onions, about $15 worth of food.
Had my arrival upset the woman’s plans? Had I caused her to leave the stand with the dinner she could afford instead of the one she wanted? What if Mary Ann’s stand operated on honesty and kindness and you could pay it forward for those who might not be as fortunate?
I picked out four ears of first of the season Silver Queen corn for dinner. I pushed a five-dollar bill into the money box. It seemed the right moment to whip up a batch of corn fritters.
Thighs exist to hold the story of fritter dalliances. Frittering is addictive. Anything can be frittered. Yet, if you want your heart to keep beating and to preserve your waistline, frittering should be reserved for special occasions, such as the convergence of the arrival of Silver Queen corn, enough money in one’s pocket to buy your dinner and then some, and a meal that honors both harvest and hunger.
August Corn Fritters
4 ears Silver Queen or other white corn, freshly cut off the cob, including milk & scrapings
½ cup white flour
1 T canola oil
1 egg
¼-1/2 cup beer (not flat)
1 t salt
½ t chili powder (optional)
black pepper to taste
Whisk together all ingredients and let sit for up to two hours; thin with beer as needed until consistency of pancake batter. Heat up to one inch of vegetable oil in large pan to medium. Using ice cream scoop, drop roughly 1/8-cup dollops of batter into hot oil. (4-6 fritters should fit in a medium/large pan without touching) Fry 2-4 minutes a side, until well browned and cooked through. Drain on paper grocery bags or paper towels. Serve warm.
