Johnny cake

Several different varieties of modern hybrid sweet corn, first developed in the early 1800s, are available at Stonington’s Farmers Market in August. “Butter and Sugar” with its sprinkling of white kernels and more numerous butttery yellows, is my favorite.  Pure white “Silver Queen” is another local preference.

In Stonington, Indian corn has not been altogether forgotten.  This old style corn is usually thought of as multi-colored and decorative.  But the local variety, called dent of flint corn, is less pleasing to the eye.  The kernels are dun colored and indent along each seed’s axis as it dries.

Two local farms still grow the legendary Pequot maize.  Whit Davis grows a field of flint corn at the Davis Farm in Pawcatuck.  After harvest, the corn is stone ground into corn meal at a local water-powered gristmill.  Whit and his wife Velora sell one-pound bags at the Saturday market.  Each of them wears a red bib apron embossed with white letters: David Farm.  Founded 1643. 

Ground corn saved the Pilgrims at Plymouth during the winter of 1620. Easily prepared and nutritious, ground corn was served up as “journeycake” by both native Indians and Colonials.  The name evolved to “Jonny-Cake” (or johnnycake).  It remains a local speciality.

The spring after their arrival, Squanto taught members of the Plymouth colony to plant flint corn five grains to each planting hill.  “One for the blackbird, one for the crow, one for the cut worm and two to grow.”

Sweet corn cooking customs

On August 4, it’s still 80 degrees at midnight, too hot to sleep inside.  I walk outside to join Buff the Cat, who is asleep on the glider.  Drowned fruit flies accumulate in the dregs of my wine glass; few mosquitoes are about.  The hum of my neighbor’s air conditioner keeps his house at a constant 72 degrees, but I forgo artificial cooling and settle into the comfort of soft pillows.  Buff and I stretch out side by side and surrender to the bliss of sleeping outside.

If heat, humidity, and hurricanes are the downside of August, an abundant stock of fresh food, especially sweet corn, is the upside.  People line up when the first ears appear at Saturday’s Market toward the end of July.  Those ears disappear within minutes.  Only the earliest shoppers get the first corn.  But by early August, Farmers Markets and farm stands have established a reliable supply.

Southern New Englanders cook their corn according to widely divergent local customs.  Some like to grill ears still in their husks, soaked first in a pal of water.  Others assign a reliable family expert to strip husks and carefully remove unwanted silk.  The best cooking method and proper amount of time to cook remain under debate.  

Personally, I prefer a shallow covered saute pan, minimal water and minimal cooking time.  I very briefly roll ears of shucked corn in a thin bath of boiling water.  The process warms the ears rather than cooks them.  Though melted butter is the preferred dressing, I don’t use it.  Butter clouds corn’s fresh taste and leaves an oily layer I find unpleasant.  For me, freshly ground salt and pepper suffice as flavorings.  Two, even three, ears of corn accompany breaded fillets of summer flounder, lemon mayonnaise, and pencil-thin green beans for a summer supper.  

Heat, humidity and a possible hurricane

August in Connecticut means heat, humidity, and possible hurricanes.  The month also brings the season’s most colorful flowers. Gone are the pastel shades of early summer.  August bouquets shout for attention with intense color: cherry red zinnias, flashy orange stems of croscosmia, huge heads of yellow sunflowers, dinner-plate sized dahlias in hot pink and fuchsia, tart plum shades of gladiolus.   

August is also the peak of the vegetable season.  The month brings the largest quantity of vegetables and the greatest assortment of tastes to our Farmers Market. There are mountains of corn, mounds of sweet-acidic tomatoes.  Baskets of shiny purple eggplants, long green zucchinis, pungent heads of garlic, sting bags of red onions ... all are ready to combine with heady basil to become a famous French late summer stew: ratatouille. 

Mid-summer (celebrated on August 1st) is the skewed middle of a bell curve that begins for me in May and ends in October.  because of uncertain coastal weather patterns, our local food and flower supply hang in a precarious balance during this time of year.

If a major storm moves up the coast, our summer season ends abruptly.  Strong winds, heavy rain, high tides --- the combination will put an end to the growing season.  I feel uneasy and fragile during August, this month of overwhelming abundance when uncertainty rules. 

Conversations are as important as sales

After a hand-shake to seal the sailboat deal, I give Sandy a small bouquet.  “It’s a thank you in advance for your help getting the boat sold.”  Sandy laughs.

“The person we have in mind used to own a Laser.” Tucker says.  “She had a really stressful job.  She’d get out of work late, after dark. In order to blow off steam, she went for a sail.  Used to stuff light sticks into the batten pockets and take the boat out to Latimer Lighthouse by Fishers Island.”

“Can you image what that looked like!” asks Sandy.

Well, yes, I can ... but I’m skeptical.  With a fifteen-foot fiberglass hull, the Laser is a single-handed racing boat and a day-sailor. Tucker knows the qualities of the boat well being a top international competitor in the class.  The boat has neither bow nor stern lights; nor running lights port and starboard.  Three glow-lights in sail pockets are inventive but definitely not Coast Guard approved.  I sometimes think sailors have a many tall tales as fishermen. 

Later in the morning someone drops by to inquire about renting my home for the winter.  Another offers a heads up on an interesting house which might soon come up for sale.

I may be the “Flower Lady” who sells bouquets at a Farmers Market, but I am also a part of a rich network of people who use this time and this place to exchange information and help each other solve mutual problems.  Here, conversations are just as important as sales. 

Conversation make a difference ...

Should we expect a buying opportunity also to be a social opportunity?

To participants in Farmers Markets, conversation is extremely important. According to sociologists, people who shop at a Farmers Market engage in ten times as much verbal exchange as those shopping at a big-box store.  

At a market in late July, I pay close attention to the number and types of conversations I engage in.  The amount of information exchanged and the number of problems solved amaze me.  Here’s what that morning looks like.

Emmy is a distinguished woman.  Every hair is in place.  She stops by to say she’d consider taking Buff The Cat for the winter while I travel to California.  Else, a mutual friend, told here I need a caretaker. ( “Hostess,” Emmy calls the position.)

A few minutes later, I see Else and thank her for encouraging Emmy to consider my cat as a houseguest.  Else does not remember any such suggestion.

“Don’t think Emmy ever had a cat.  Don’t think she’d do well with one.  More a dog person, really,”  Else says in her brusque, good-natured way.

My next conversation is with Tucker, president of the Stonigton Small Boat Association, and his wife Sandy.

“By the way, Tucker, I’m looking for a buyer for my Laser.  Any ideas who might be interested?”  I ask.  After several windy, white-knuckle racing seasons, I have decided to acknowledge that I am underweight and over aged for the boat.

I know just the person for the boat!” Tucker replies.  “Consider it a done deal.”

Meet and greet at the Farmers Market

It’s not only freshness and quality that drop out of the food equation when we shop at huge grocery stores.  We also lose human connections -- with local farmers who grow especially for us and with our friends and neighbors as we meet regularly to participate in the ancient ritual of going to market.

Our Saturday Farmers Market in Stonington is a beehive of activity where people meet neighbors, and farmers indulge in brief bits of education.  By contrast, the local supermarket is a box with a high ceiling where speed and efficiency rule.  Well-oiled carts wide aisles, and brightly lit display cases loaded with over 30,000 items --- all tout the same themes: shop fast, pay less.  Human interactions take a back seat.  Greeters at the door (part-time workers probably earning minimum wage with few benefits) are the only hints that human interaction just may be important.  But most greeters are weary or bored.  We easily ignore each other.

At a superstore there may be over thirty aisles of food but no conversation.  Maybe a “Hello” or “Have a good day” brackets your food transaction. Or maybe not.  If you process your purchases through the increasingly popular self-checkout center, you will get a greeting only if something goes wrong.  Only a machine malfunction brings a clerk who oversees four to six stations to assist you. 

But, is it really important to serve up conversation with the purchase of food or flowers?  Is it possible to raise the bar and put social needs on the same pedestal as economic needs?

Vegetable perfectionism

The perfection of grocery store produce came up for discussion one summer day when Elisa Whitman worked with me as a garden apprentice in my food garden.  Professionally, Elisa teaches biology and environmental science at Stonington High School.  She is a vivacious woman with a great sense of humor.

“Look at this zucchini!  This eggplant!” she says, picking up vegetables just harvested from the garden.  “They look just like the ones at the grocery store!”

We both laugh ... at first.  But it’s a sobering point to consider: a grocery store, not our own mouths, set the criteria for perfection.  We not only have learned to judge excellence by the eye instead of the taste buds; we have also learned to hold unrealistic expectation about what produce should look like.

A similar bias holds true for varieties.  In other words, if your grocery store carries only Anjou and Bartlett pears, the appearance of a brownish Bosque or a small hard Sickle pear seems different and unappealing.

After all, some vegetables and fruits are naturally larger or smaller than the average.  But grocery stores display only the industry norm.  Oversized or undersized items seem odd when they do appear.

This expectation of perfections sets the stage for starlet strawberries and tangelos that could win tango contest.  Everything is bright, perky, uniform, and flawless.  How does a domestic tomato compete with the champions at the store?  Especially if it rained last night after a two-week dry spell, and the poor thing split its sides in relief.