White Corn in a Suitcase

I LOVE white corn. I used to think it arrived in a suitcase. When we lived in Boston, Kansas and California, my relatives always brought white corn, Alaga syrup and Red Diamond Coffee with them in a suitcase. I was amazed that everyone had the same exact same suitcase. Now that I am an adult I think perhaps my mother sent a suitcase home (Alabama) with each relative and the next visiting relative was responsible for filling the suitcase.

At the Alabama farmers market yesterday, I almost bought corn, but I had flashbacks of sitting in the kitchen with my grandmother shucking corn. I LOVE fried or sauteed corn as some would call it, but I wasn't willing to give up my social life to work for it.

I also LOVE roasted corn. It doesn't have to be white, but the chance of a piece of yellow corn coming across the table at a family event is pretty slim. When I was in Malawi, we would pull over to the side of the road and buy roasted corn on the cob. I can't remember what kind it was.

My Uncle Gene is the corn roaster of the family. Every other July, I would wait for him to fire up the grill and roast the corn. I think he put it in the coals or something. My cousin B took on the role of the grill master. He is a great corn roaster too.

Someone who must not know me well, sent a bag of uncooked corn still in the husks home to me via my husband. Wait, an oven roasted corn recipe. "Stick corn in shucks on oven rack for 30 minutes. Peel back husks. Eat."

Until I can find the grill master, the oven is going to have to do.