We always called it "sweet corn" when I was growing up. We'd buy it at Richfield Farms in Clifton, New Jersey. A heavy-set woman with dark hair, flushed face, and plump arms would be seated in front of a bushel basket loaded with corn. She would rip the husk down part-way to make sure there were no worms and toss the ear of corn into a large brown paper bag. Summer had begun.
It did today when we bought our first corn at Busa's in Lexington, the variety called "butter and sugar." (Busa's does not grow "silver queen," a variety I find much too sweet.) I steamed the corn for five minutes and ate it with salt and pepper--no butter. We made a supper of corn, broccoli with olive oil; for dessert, cherries.
I'll be eating corn for weeks, until summer is over, and always buy it from Busa's, which has been in business since 1920. They sell their corn the day it is picked.
Here is a depiction of Chicomecoatl, the Corn Goddess of the Aztecs. Accounts I've read say that every September the Aztecs would sacrifice a young girl to the goddess, pour her blood over the goddess's statue, and flay the girl. The priests would wear garments made of the girl's skin. I'm glad to buy my corn at pleasant Busa's, hear only the squeak of the husks as I shuck, watch the jiggling pot lid, and eat a peaceful meal. But should we congratulate ourselves for our civilized behavior? We have our own forms of cruelty.
