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Peppered Corn Fritters — The Taste of a Summer That’s Still Right Here

The summer solstice is this week — the longest day, the turn, the point after which the light begins its slow withdrawal. I always feel the solstice as a kind of paradox: it's the height of summer and also the beginning of its decline. Both things are true. The farm is in full production and the days are about to start getting shorter. You just don't notice the shortening yet because the days are still enormous.

Made a cold cucumber soup this week — the first of the summer's cucumbers, finally big enough to be useful, combined with yogurt and dill and garlic. Cold in a bowl on a warm June afternoon. This is what the cucumbers are for. Not for cooking, not yet — first they're for cold soup and sliced on salads and eaten out of hand in the garden. Later they'll be pickled. But right now they're for right now.

Carol and I drove to Burlington on Saturday, the first time I'd been to a city — even Burlington's small version of a city — in over a year and a half. We walked around, had lunch at a restaurant (indoor seating, which still felt slightly novel), bought things we didn't specifically need. The return to ordinary commerce has a strange texture after this particular year. You notice things you used to do automatically. The noticing itself is interesting.

Teddy made a summer pasta on Sunday — fresh corn cut off the cob, cherry tomatoes halved, fresh basil, pasta, a splash of the cooking water. He texted a photo. It looked genuinely professional. I told him so. He sent back a single thumbs up, which from a fourteen-year-old is the equivalent of extensive praise.

When Teddy sent that photo of his Sunday pasta — corn cut straight off the cob, cherry tomatoes, basil — it confirmed what the whole week had already been saying: this is the moment, right now, when the corn is worth doing something with. The cold cucumber soup was its own argument for summer. These fritters are another one. They come together quickly, they’re good eaten warm over the sink or at the table, and they ask almost nothing of you except that you pay a little attention to what the season is actually offering.

Peppered Corn Fritters

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 2 cups fresh corn kernels (cut from about 3 ears)
  • 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
  • 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/4 cup finely grated Parmesan
  • 2 scallions, thinly sliced
  • 1 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper, plus more to taste
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil or neutral oil, for frying
  • Sour cream or plain yogurt, for serving (optional)

Instructions

  1. Mix the batter. In a large bowl, combine the corn kernels, beaten eggs, flour, Parmesan, scallions, black pepper, salt, and paprika. Stir until the mixture holds together when pressed — it will be thick and coarse.
  2. Heat the pan. Warm the oil in a large cast-iron or nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering but not smoking.
  3. Form and fry. Drop heaping tablespoons of batter into the pan, pressing each gently into a rough round about 1/2 inch thick. Work in batches to avoid crowding. Cook 3—4 minutes per side until deep golden-brown and cooked through.
  4. Drain and season. Transfer finished fritters to a plate lined with a paper towel. Hit them immediately with a pinch of salt and extra cracked pepper while still hot.
  5. Serve. Eat warm, with a spoonful of sour cream or plain yogurt alongside if you like. They’re best within 20 minutes of coming out of the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 310mg

Walter Bergstrom
About the cook who shared this
Walter Bergstrom
Week 273 of Walter’s 30-year story · Burlington, Vermont
Walt is a seventy-three-year-old retired high school history teacher from Burlington, Vermont — a Vietnam veteran, a widower, and a grandfather of five who cooks New England comfort food in the same kitchen where his wife Margaret made bread every Saturday for forty years. He lost Margaret to a stroke in 2021, and now he bakes her bread himself, not because he's good at it but because the smell fills the house and for an hour she's still there.

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