Never, as in never, when this was on a menu, did my mother pass it up.
When Suzanne sent the recipes for this cookbook, she’d added this as a gift to me.
As my mom has passed and I loved her beyond reason, obviously, this undid me.
Best. Gift. Ever.
And now, Suzanne, who never met my mom, and I get to give a little of my mom to you.
See?
Best.
Gift.
Ever.Click here to return to the table of contents.Fried Corn
(Kristen’s Version)1 shit ton of butter
1 bag frozen corn
Salt and PepperIf the world smiles on you, you own a cast iron skillet.
Get that puppy out.
If not, grab your normal skillet.
In it, dump the butter. I’d say start with a full stick (half cup). Have more ready. Get it melting on medium heat. Once that stick is nearly melted, pour in the bag of frozen corn. The whole bag. Frozen. Normally, I use yellow corn. Sometimes, when I’m feeling fancy, I use white. If the family’s over, I use both because everyone eats the crap out of this (by everyone, that means my sister, brother, and me, because we grew up on it), so we need a lot of it.
Season with salt and pepper. Stir. Don’t have the heat too hot, though you can go low if you want to keep this going while you do other things. Intermittently move the corn around the skillet. As the butter is absorbed and starts sticking to the pan, you might need to add in more globs.
No, this is not healthy. At all.
The end of this process is hotly debated. My sister, Erika, feels this is done when the corn has absorbed all the butter, is slick and shiny and cooked through. I, on the other hand, like the butter browned on the corn and the whole lot is a bit sticky and messy. Our brother, Gib, falls in between.
You do you.KA Note: When I was growing up, our cast iron skillet never left the stove. We cooked everything in that. And fried corn, cheap as chips, was a delicacy. It’s ridiculously delicious. Everyone in our family loved it. I know no other household on several continents that cooks corn this way. Anytime I introduce it to newbies, people think I’m mad. Probably because people aren’t fans of courting impromptu, food-induced heart attacks.
Those people didn’t grow up in Indiana.Click here to return to the table of contents.Something Special, The EndWhen I pull myself together, Axl gets me a tissue. I wipe my face, hope my mascara isn’t a disaster, and ask the inevitable questions.
“What’s your favorite recipe?”
“Tuscan Chicken,” he answers.
“What’s Hattie’s?” I ask.
“The Mexican Street Corn deviled eggs.”
“Of course,” I murmur, glancing away.
“I’m happy, babe,” he says.
And I look back, right into Axl’s ice-blue eyes.
“Forever and always, I’ll be happy,” he whispers.
It’s trembling, but I smile at him.
And Axl, my Axl, smiles back at me.Chapter SevenAll on My SideKAForty-five minutes later…In the time since being at Axl’s to now, where I’m sitting on the brick, back patio at Auggie’s house, I’ve discovered the worst.
My mascara was ruined during my crying jag.
Insult to injury, I didn’t bring a tube for touch-ups.
But, who would ever think a commando would make me cry?
Okay, maybe that was stupid. I’ve found they do that to women, and not in bad ways.
Though (and not only because I have no choice), I prefer to focus on the good.
Pork rind nachos.
And the better.
Mo has joined us.
Mo is Lottie’s man.
As mentioned, Lottie is Jet’s sister.
And Jet is the Rock Chick whose story is told in the second Rock Chick book.
Are you getting how I can’t let go of my people?
All the guys are tall.
Mag is very tall.
Mo is gargantuan.
He’s also bald, built big, solid and tough, and has a mug many might think is frightening.
But I know his gentle soul.
So I know he’s beautiful.
“I wanna hear about this private meeting between you and Kit,” Auggie says to Axl.
“The operative word in that, the word that means you’re not gonna hear shit, is ‘private,’” Axl points out.
I say nothing, mostly because I’m shoving pork rind nachos into my gob.
Boone is studying Axl closely. “What needs to be private?”
“Do you men not understand the word ‘private’?” Mag asks.
“We don’t have any secrets between us,” Boone states.
Mo grunts.
It’s a grunt, but it says a lot.
Then again, Mo isn’t a big talker, so those who know him can read a lot into the little he gives.
“You’ve got secrets?” Auggie asks Mo.
“Everyone has secrets,” Axl says.
“I don’t have any secrets,” Auggie returns to Axl.
Mag coughs and the word “Bullshit,” comes out when he does.
“Fuck off,” Auggie shoots at Mag.
“I’ll fuck off after you fuck off with being such a goddamn nose,” Mag retorts.
Mo grunts again but this time a word is formed from it.
“Men.”
They shut up.
God, but I dig these dudes.
Even if Mo has effectively ended it, I can see that Boone and Aug aren’t big fans of not knowing what’s going on with something in which they’re involved.
