May, and the food forest is doing what it does — producing more than I can use in the moment, which is the point, which means the kitchen shifts into its preservation mode alongside the summer cooking mode. I've been making the spring rounds: harvesting the asparagus before it bolts, picking the mulberries that the birds find before I do, cutting and drying the spring herbs while their oils are at peak. These are the tasks that don't announce themselves and can't wait, the ones that disappear if you miss the window.
Caleb has been running his teaching kitchen every other Sunday now — eight sessions since February, rotating participants, building a small recurring group of people who come for the continuity. He told me last week that one of his regulars is a woman from the tribe who had stopped cooking traditional foods after her mother died twenty years ago and had lost the knowledge and was coming to the sessions to find her way back into it. He said she'd cried the first time she made hominy from scratch because she'd been doing it wrong in her memory for twenty years and now she had it right. He said he didn't know what to do so he'd just kept cooking alongside her and let the moment be what it was. I said that was exactly right. He said he was figuring it out as he went. I said that was also exactly right.
Tommy is coming for a week in June. I've been planning what we'll cook, which is less a plan than an intention to follow whatever he's interested in. At four and a half he has enough knowledge to be a genuine participant and enough enthusiasm to make everything more than it would be without him.
The story Caleb told me about the woman finding her way back to hominy—doing it right after twenty years of a wrong memory—kept circling back while I was in the kitchen this week. Corn is where that process begins, the literal foundation before the nixtamal, before the pot, before any of it. Cutting kernels cleanly off a fresh cob is one of those quiet foundational skills that most people were never formally shown, and it’s the kind of thing that makes everything downstream easier. This felt like the right moment to write it down.
Easily Cut Fresh Corn Kernels Off the Cob
Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 4 (based on 4 ears of corn)
Ingredients
- 4 ears fresh corn, husked and silk removed
- 1 large wide bowl, or 1 bundt pan (the bundt method is cleaner)
- 1 sharp chef’s knife
- 1 damp kitchen towel (to stabilize the bowl)
Instructions
- Set up your station. Place a large bowl on a damp kitchen towel to hold it steady on the counter. Alternatively, use a bundt pan—standing the cob upright in the center tube lets kernels fall directly into the pan with almost no scatter.
- Stand the cob upright. Hold the cob firmly by the top with one hand and press the flat stem end straight down against the bottom of the bowl or into the bundt pan center hole. The cob should be stable and vertical before you cut.
- Cut downward in clean strokes. Using a sharp chef’s knife, slice straight down along the cob from top to bottom, cutting close to the cob without digging into the woody core. Work in strips around the cob, rotating as you go, until all kernels are removed.
- Scrape the milk. Turn the back (dull spine) of your knife against the stripped cob and press firmly as you drag it downward all the way around. This releases the sweet, starchy liquid called corn milk—add it to whatever dish you’re making. It matters.
- Use immediately or store. Fresh-cut kernels can be used right away in soups, sautés, or as the starting point for hominy. To store, spread on a sheet tray, freeze until solid, then transfer to a sealed bag. They keep well for up to three months.
Nutrition (per serving, approximately 1 ear of corn)
Calories: 130 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 0mg