Grandma's Pickled Corn

It always seemed to be a risk worth taking. While Grandma and the others were preoccupied with more important things, I would sneak out to the backyard, pass the persimmon tree, and down the dark stairs that led to the basement cellar. Lifting the wooden chuck that had long since replaced the Yale lock on the door, I would silently enter the cold, damp confines of the dirt-floored depository of Grandma's jams, preserves, canned beans, and pickled corn.

The pickled corn! Her other treasures were of no importance to me, but her pickled corn was too mouth-watering for a country boy to pass up. Like a thief executing the greatest heist of history, I would stealthily make my way through the darkness to the large brown-and-white crock that was covered with cheesecloth. Almost delicately pulling the cloth aside, I would reach down into the briny fluid to retrieve an ear of the delectable delight. Not daring to be caught, I would hide in the shadows of that cellar and consume my prize much too quickly, considering that most of us like to savor our culinary favorites.

I have searched the world over trying to find pickled corn that could begin to match Grandma's. Most of it is pickled in jars today and simply cannot compare with the briny ears that sat and soaked in old crocks in those damp, dark cellars of the past. Oh, I have the pleasure of eating a whole pickled ear of corn now and then--there are still some folks who like to do it the old-fashioned way. But even then, none tastes as good as hers.

I wonder what the difference is. Was it just a young boy's first experience with a taste that suited his palate? Was it the thrill of a "stolen pleasure," pickled corn enhanced by the adrenalin rush? Or, is it simply that my taste buds have acquiesced to time and lost their acuteness? I'm not sure, but there are days when I would give almost any monetary price to have that experience one more time.

And about my thievery. I certainly wasn't the first grandchild to do it and I wouldn't be the last. Somehow, I sense that Grandma knew what we were up to anyway.