Black Bean and Corn Salad

Mid-July and the summer has entered its deepest, most unyielding phase. The kind of heat that makes the asphalt soft and the air visible and the prospect of standing in a kitchen over a hot stove seem like an act of either devotion or insanity. I choose devotion. I have always chosen devotion.

At the library system, I spent this week in budget meetings with the county, advocating for the funding that keeps our branches open and our books current. The meetings are tedious but necessary, and I approach them with the preparation of a lawyer and the conviction of a preacher's daughter. I bring data: circulation numbers, program attendance, community impact surveys. The county commissioners bring budgets that always seem to find money for parks and roads but never for libraries. I remind them, politely but firmly, that a library is not a luxury. It is the place where a child who cannot afford books can read, where a job seeker can use a computer, where an elderly person can sit in air conditioning and be treated with dignity. Libraries are infrastructure. They are just the kind of infrastructure that doesn't photograph well at a ribbon-cutting.

Carrie finished "Snow Country" and has moved on to "A Personal Matter" by Kenzaburo Oe, which I confess I have not read, and the gap between my reading and my fifteen-year-old's reading is narrowing in a way that I find both humbling and thrilling. She is building a literary education that spans two cultures, and the breadth of it will serve her well wherever she goes.

I drove to Beaufort on Saturday. Mama was making shrimp and corn chowder — a summer dish, lighter than her fall and winter soups, but still deeply flavored with shrimp stock and fresh corn cut from the cob. She was singing as she cooked — an old hymn, "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" — and the singing was steady and sure, and for a moment in the Beaufort kitchen, with the summer light coming through the window and the chowder bubbling and my mother's voice filling the room, nothing was wrong. Everything was as it had always been.

Then she turned to me and said, "When is your father coming home?" and the moment broke. I said, "Mama, Daddy died in 2012." She looked at me and the knowing came back into her eyes like a light switching on, and she said, "I know that. I know that, Naomi. I just forgot for a minute." I said, "It's okay, Mama." She said, "It's not okay. But it's what we have." And she went back to stirring the chowder, and the hymn resumed, and I stood in the doorway holding the grief of a daughter who has just watched her mother forget her father's death and then remember it again, and I did not know which was worse: the forgetting or the remembering.

I could not stop thinking about that corn — the way Mama ran her knife down the cob with such ease, the pale milk of it catching the light, the sweetness of it filling the kitchen alongside the hymn and the shrimp stock and everything I was trying to hold without breaking. I cannot recreate her chowder here, not today; some recipes belong to a specific kitchen and a specific person and to attempt them anywhere else feels like a kind of trespass. But I can honor the corn. This black bean and corn salad is summer on a plate — bright and quick and full of the kind of uncomplicated goodness that Mama always said was the point of food in the first place: to feed people you love while you still have the chance.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cans (15 oz each) black beans, drained and rinsed
2 cups fresh corn kernels (from about 3 ears), or thawed frozen corn
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 red bell pepper, diced
1/2 small red onion, finely diced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
1 jalapeño, seeded and finely minced (optional)
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

Prep the corn. If using fresh corn, cut the kernels from the cob by standing each ear upright in a large bowl and running a sharp knife downward along the cob. If using frozen corn, spread it on a paper towel and pat dry.
Combine the base. In a large mixing bowl, add the drained black beans, corn kernels, halved cherry tomatoes, diced red bell pepper, red onion, cilantro, and jalapeño if using. Toss gently to distribute evenly.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, fresh lime juice, cumin, garlic powder, salt, and black pepper until fully combined.
Dress and toss. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss well to coat all the ingredients. Taste and adjust salt, pepper, or lime juice as needed.
Rest before serving. For best flavor, let the salad sit at room temperature for 10 minutes, or refrigerate for up to 30 minutes, before serving. This allows the beans and corn to absorb the dressing fully.
Serve. Serve chilled or at room temperature as a side dish, over greens, with chips, or alongside grilled fish or shrimp.

Nutrition (per serving)

Black Bean and Corn Salad — The Summer Dish That Carried Mama’s Kitchen With Me