When I was a young thang, my granny would shuck corn and let me race the corn worms around the dining room table, which is remarkable, since the idea of touching larvae now makes me a little sweaty with discomfort. She would also peel me huge bowls of fat, sweet figs, and I have been hopelessly spoiled ever since. Anyway, in a nod to my granny and summer suppers everywhere, we bought a dozen ears of sweet, Maryland corn from Sunday's Farmers Market.
Because I believe that I am a fearless badass, despite all contrary evidence, I decided to shuck 'em myself and make creamed corn. (Note: There is a contractual clause in my relationship agreement with n.o.c. stating that he handles all things tall, dirty, or potentially disgusting. While corn shucking may not be an explicitly tall, dirty, or potentially disgusting activity, n.o.c.'s from Iowa, so it has always fallen within his perview.) Things went fairly well until I came across a corn spider. I was prepared for worms. I was prepared for huitlacoche (I know it's delicious, but I can't. I just can't.). I was even prepared for worms in huitlacoche, though the thought of that makes me nauseated. I was not prepared for a corn spider. Hate spiders. Loathe them. Tooooo many legs. F*ck, f*ck, f*ck. So, despite a brief bout with a full-bodied case of the willies, I shucked all the corn, since it turns out that I am, actually, a badass.
And then I cut off the kernels and scraped out the juice.
Then I did what any normal human would do - I browned half a stick of butter, threw in a few shallots, added the corn and finished the whole shebang with the merest drizzle of heavy cream.
Can I get an amen from the amen corner!?! This shit is worth a corn spider encounter. Derlicious.