Food holds memories for me. When I eat sugary cereal, which is rare, I remember the camping trips that my family took when I was a little girl. My mother, who fed us only the healthiest of healthy cereals back at home, would loosen the reins a touch and give us a variety pack of tiny boxes of sugary cereal to fight over. I always wanted the Coco Krispies.
When I eat chocolate mousse I am transported to La Rotonde in St. Amand-Montrond, France, where I spent so many evenings in 2005 and 2006 with one of my very best girlfriends, learning to eat.
When I eat popcorn, which is at least twice a week, I think about my dad, who would always make it for me, no matter the hour, if I just raised my eyebrows and asked "PC?"
Last summer, the boyfriend and I unwittingly created another food memory. Day after day, I would come to his apartment with bags heaping with sweet corn. If the grocery special was 8 ears for $2, I would buy 8 ears of corn. For the two of us.
While he would gamely light the grill and never tell me to figure out how to do it myself, I shucked the corn, rubbed it with oil, and carefully arranged each ear over the grate, just so. He would hobble into his kitchen, frustrated with his broken leg, and start to make his bacon butter. I chopped cilantro, crumbled blue cheese onto a cookie sheet, and ran outside to turn the corn that I'd inevitably forgotten about.
In the summer of 2013 we ate ear after ear of corn. We told everyone about it, to the point that truly they must have wondered why we were so excited about a commonplace vegetable. We didn't care, and we kept eating and marveling at our self-described brilliance.
I told you about supercorn before, and I hope you make it next summer. Maybe with someone who is special to you, or, better yet, for someone who is special to you.