Glorious corn.

While some may have recently decried Western corn consumption (Michael Pollan, I'm looking at you), it's safe for me to say that corn has long been, and always shall be, a crucial part of my gastric existence. Growing up on the fertile plains of Wisconsin, each and every child knew that farmers wanted their crop "knee-high by the 4th of July" (how timely!), and the month of August was always a corn-ucopia of salt-buttery crunch feasts. During our high school years, my brother and some friends spawned a band, 1824 Techno, dedicated to eradicating an invading race of corn-based aliens via giant robots (this was during the height of the Aquabats' popularity, so cut 'em a break). Many a hot summer night during my teenage years were spent in the world-reknowned dollar movie theatres of the suburbs of Milwaukee, where not only were the tickets $2, but so were the oddly svelte bags of natural-butter-flavor-sauce soaked popped kernels at the concession stand.

I'll be honest, dear readers: through all the years, my adoration of the golden cob has yet to wane. Every late summer fills me with a hot anticipation for roasted corn salsa, delicious corn chowder, and, of course, the crown jewel of corn culinary delight: grilled ears with just a tingle of char beneath the flaxen stalks. Fortunately for all of you fans of a fermented libation, yours truly has taken up the reigns here at Capo Penn and rebirthed, like a mighty starch phoenix, the scrumptious rosemary garlic popcorn that our bartenders will gladly furnish you with your drink. The light herbal notes punch through the rich buttery backbone, and the salt dances lithely on your tongue. Right now, we are featuring a tart, fruity Dogfish Head Festina Peche and a smooth and dry Sixpoint Righteous Rye, both of which make a lovely happy hour accompaniment to our glorious corn.



The author (lower right) and family at the world's only corn palace.