Can Humans Eat Corn?
What if it’s a tradition?
Back when I was a kid growing up my siblings and I were only served corn on one day of the year and that day was Thanksgiving Day. So naturally we looked forward to it since it was rare and special and because it was part of our Thanksgiving tradition.
According to our mother, back in the old country people did not eat corn. Corn was something fed to livestock — not humans! She vehemently refused to eat it, even on Thanksgiving.
But she served it to us on Thanksgiving because she was trying so damn hard to be a good American housewife. The traditional Thanksgiving meal was so foreign to her but she was determined to master it. To her it was an important part of becoming an American.
But in some way she screwed it up every single year. She never mastered it. Most years it was the turkey that she screwed up but she also occasionally ruined the gravy, the sweet potatoes, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce, and quite often the pie. (They didn’t bake pies in the old country; they baked cake!)
It was all because she was trying too hard! To her, preparing a traditional American Thanksgiving Day meal was one of the biggest challenges of her life. She would get up at four in the morning and spend all day in the kitchen but every year she managed to screw up some aspect of the meal. No one could ruin a turkey like her.
Most noggin doctors would characterize my relationship with my mother as intensely adversarial. She said white and I said black. She said up and I said down. I rebelled against her every way that I could. So when I became an adult I decided that I would show up my mother. I decided to learn how to prepare the most absolutely perfect Thanksgiving Day meal. I decided to become the most perfect American male housewife.
And I succeeded! Seriously, I’m not kidding or bragging. It took a few years but my Thanksgiving Day turkey feasts became legendary. People would fly over a thousand miles to attend them. (Yes, they were relatives but still…)
Thanksgiving became my favorite holiday of the year. It was more fun than my birthday. I spent the whole day cooking then feasting then cleaning up. It was pure unadulterated joy! Every minute of it.
And I served corn! (Drowned, of course, in organic unsalted sweet cream butter made from organic grass-fed cows.)
But alas, it has been fifteen years since I prepared my last Thanksgiving Day feast. That meal was my ultimate culinary triumph — the one that made my mother turn in her grave. I had agreed to single-handedly prepare a Thanksgiving turkey feast for seventeen people (only two of which were relatives).
I pulled it off and nothing could have been more perfect. Everything turned out better than I had ever made it — especially the turkey. Everyone who attended told me that it was the best turkey meal they had ever had — and I’m pretty sure most all of them were sincere.
I was still washing dishes and cleaning up at two a.m. the next morning. What an orgasmic fantastic day that was! It was one of the happiest days of my life. Seriously, I should have won an award.
But now fifteen years later I’m not sure I could pull that off again. I’m not even sure I remember how I made everything. I’m like a starring quarterback who won the Super Bowl but hasn’t played football ever again. I haven’t even touched a turkey since then. For the last fifteen years I have cooked on Thanksgiving for only one person; me. I don’t even have a pet that I can give leftovers to anymore.
(By the way, in case you didn’t know it, tryptophan hits dogs even harder than it hits humans.)
Sounds sad, right? Nah. I’m okay. I’ve got my Super Bowl ring. I know how to experience a lot of joy just cooking for myself. What I really like to do now is go out in nature and eat a picnic on Thanksgiving. But we’ve got six inches of snow on the ground right now and the snow is still coming down pretty hard so that’s not going to happen.
And that’s also way too much snow on the ground to walk to the grocery store for a can of corn.
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