A Corny Story of Love and Proposal

During the period of my courtship, I had a job that required a fairly significant amount of travel. I was never one of those people you’d call a “road warrior,” but I traveled enough that I would be able to occasionally get free or drastically reduced upgrades to first class. However, the places to which I was traveling were so disparate that I could never pledge allegiance to one airline and really rake in the perks for my loyalty. Still, I’d flown enough that I had at my disposal two tickets to pretty much anywhere in the continental US. My then-girlfriend and I decided to use them to take a vacation to wine country. Even though we’d be on separate airlines, we found two flights into San Francisco that landed within an hour of one another and those flights just happened to be on the two airlines which owed me free tickets. I had some concerns about suggesting to my girlfriend that we fly separately, but, fortunately for me, she was a frugal girl who realized that any money saved on airfare would be money that could be spent on wine and restaurants, neither of which necessarily come cheap in Napa Valley. Still, despite the fact that my girlfriend was totally on board with flying separately, I was nervous because of a major detail to which she was not privy: I was going to ask her to marry me. I’d gone to some impossible maneuverings to get a reservation at a very exclusive restaurant in Napa Valley (I don’t like to name drop and I don’t want to publicize that the restaurant bent their reservations policy for l’il old me, a simple country lawyer from Kansas, so I won’t name the place, but if you fashion yourself a “foodie,” like me, you’ve heard of it)) and I was going to pop the question during our fabulous dinner at this fabulous place where, I had been informed, the world-famous chef was going to be in his kitchen that night. My girl was generous to a fault, so I don’t think it would have gone any differently had I said “I’m going to ask you to marry me while we’re in Napa Valley, so let’s take separate flights,” but I was still nervous about the potential fallout from such an audaciously skinflint-y move. Because of my guilty feelings about flying separately, I decided I would do everything I could to make my girlfriend’s flight as pleasant as possible. Which is to say, to make flying coach on a domestic airline at least bearable. I made her a mixtape and gave her my Walkman (this was back when everyone had a portable CD player, but no one had the ability to burn their own CDs.). I even provided some narration based on where I was guessing she was at various points on her trip. For example, I knew the approximate time at which she would stop and have a layover in Denver, so I made some Denver specific commentary and included the song “Rocky Mountain High” by John Denver. Still, the worst thing about domestic coach travel in the US isn’t lacking something to do. I knew she’d have a book and my mixtape was to be a pleasant diversion, but wouldn’t assuage the worst thing about commercial air travel. That worst thing? The food. If you’re “lucky” enough to be on a flight where they serve a meal and don’t charge you $299.95 for a sandwich, a bag of cheese crackers and a cup of yogurt, you end up hating yourself for spending that kind of money on THAT kind (the horrible kind) of lunch. And if you are less lucky, there are no meal options on your flight at all. Nope, the thing I was going to have to do was pack my girl the ultimate sack lunch. But what to pack? I didn’t want her to have to fiddle around with utensils and it needed to be something that would taste good if it was cold (as I’d pack it) or got to something like room temperature (because I didn’t want to have to make her deal with cold packs and an actual lunch box, this needed to be something that, when she was finished, the wrappers and other detritus could simply be thrown away). I wanted it to be something she could fit on the little fold-down tray table she would have but not some sprawling five-dish lunch where things would keep falling over or getting bumped when she reached for the next bite of whatever. Most of all, of course, I wanted it to taste good. Of course, as I am a terrible procrastinator, I waited until the night before to actually, you know, do anything about this lunch I had planned. I looked through my fridge, freezer and pantry and found precious little. I had two ears of fresh, farmers’ market corn that I’d previous grilled the day before that were leftovers from a much larger grilling session. I had a tomato, I had a red onion, I had a red bell pepper and some cilantro. In the freezer I had a couple of pork chops and a bottle of vodka. So, I did what needed to be done. I poured myself a shot of the vodka while I contemplated my options. Then I got to work. I decided to make a sandwich of the pork and a salad, served on the sandwich, out of the veg and corn. To have something tasty come out of that mess of random ingredients was one part good luck and two parts seasonal vegetables picked and served at their prime. You might be tempted to think of this as a pork sandwich, but the pork is really an afterthought. If I’d had chicken, duck breasts or even flank steak, I’d have done the exact same thing but subbed in a different protein and no one would have said a thing. No, the star of this picnic lunch, eaten miles in the air while the diner is heading toward a life-altering question, is the corn. The corn is what made this dish. Sweet corn, plump and juicy, but a little charred from the grilling, with a few other things thrown in for color, texture and taste, is one of the great treats and is the star of this dish. Again, don’t be misled by the protein; after I “created” this salad (I use the quotes because there is nothing new under the sun and I have to assume someone, somewhere has done something similar to this dish, I’m just not aware of it), I have made it and had it by itself, meatless. The corn is what gets me every time. What I did was tea-smoke the pork chops. Tea smoking sounds difficult, but it really isn’t. However, while it’s pretty easy, it is a bit of a palaver and does leave with some unenjoyable cleanup. Given that the pork isn’t the star of this show, you could use any smoked, grilled, sautéed or roasted pork chop you have at your disposal. I just happened to go with tea smoking my pork chops because I had the implements available to me, I was out of fuel for my grill and because I’m the type of cook who will go to extra trouble just because. You could just as easily do this with shrimp, chicken or any other cut of meat. If you are a vegetarian, skip the protein altogether. As I said, the star here is the corn. The way I had cooked the corn was to peel back the husks and strip off all the corn silk. Then, I unfolded the husks back up to cover the corn and I soaked the corn in cold water for maybe five minutes. I find that grilling in the husks lets the char and smoky flavor permeate the corn but prevents it from drying out and shriveling in the intense heat of the grill. It’s actually a combination steaming/smoking/grilling method of cooking and, while it may be my imagination, I find it works very well at delivering tasty, plump corn. So, as I said, I started with the base of two ears of corn. I removed this from the cob with a regular kitchen knife, which is very simple to do. Simnply hold the corn perpendicular to your cutting board and cut the corn off in smooth downward strokes. One trick cooks frequently miss when stripping the corn from the cob is that they leave behind a lot of the intense, juicy-milky goodness from each kernel of corn. Look carefully at your now stripped ear of corn and you will find that you left behind a lot of the inside of each individual kernel and you want that because that is where the really intense flavor of the corn resides. Take the back of your knife and scrape down the cob and look how much juicy goodness comes out. You were going to waste that, weren’t you? Well, don’t. Take all your corn kernels and scrapings and put them in a bowl. You can throw away the corn cobs if you want, but I have learned that if you put them in a bag and freeze them, when you are next using your charcoal grill, putting a cob on the hot coals imparts a lovely smoke that you can’t get with any other wood. Add to your corn half a finely minced red onion. Mincing is critical here. Big chunks of onion are going to be strongly flavored and will upset the sweet corn that is…anyone? THE STAR OF THE SHOW! In fact, it’s probably not a bad idea to put that onion in a strainer and rinse it under cold water for a few seconds to really tame the onion bite. Into the pool with the onion. Add one clove of abused garlic. You can abuse yours with a garlic press, a kitchen knife or anyway you want to do it. Normally I use a microplane grater because it really amps up the garlic flavor. However, too much garlic could upset the balance of flavors so I’d mince it here and put it in the bowl. Take your tomato and cut it in half across the equator and gently squeeze out the seed pockets and excess water (you can leave them in, but you really don’t want this to be too wet if you’re going to make a sandwich). Chop the tomato into fine-ish dice; you don’t need it as fine as the minced onion but, again, big chunks aren’t the point here either. Now for your roasted red pepper. Wait, you did roast the pepper and peel off the charred, blackened skin and throw away the seeds, didn’t you? No? (Sigh) OK, go ahead and do that, wouldja? I’ll wait. … OK, all done? Excellent. Take the roasted red pepper and cut it into pieces about the same size as the tomato. Roasting is really a matter of preference as you might like the crunch. I find that the intense sweetness of a roasted pepper, along with the smoky flavors and the silky textures you can only get by roasting are a nice complement, but you should do what you like. Here comes the cilantro; I love, L-O-V-E, LOVE cilantro but maybe you don’t. Chiffonade or finely chop as much as you think you will want and add it. If you are one of those people that absolutely detest cilantro, add in something you do like; I could see chives, dill, parsley or any other “soft” herb in this although basil might blacken if you don’t eat it soon enough. Stir everything gently to combine and now notice how pretty it is, what with the red of the pepper and tomato, the green of the herbs, the purple of the onion and that slightly browned yellow of the corn. Go ahead and admire your work. Now, add one teaspoon of wine vinegar. I prefer red, but you can use white wine or, really, any vinegar you like. Just use good stuff. As I have preached before, honor your ingredients and they will thank you for it as will your dining companion, even if she is 500 miles away from you. I would avoid balsamic vinegar because, as great as it tastes, it will make the salad look kind of muddy; But if you’re in love with balsamic, go right ahead. I have to admit, the sweetness of balsamic would really go with the corn. Add a couple of teaspoons of your best olive oil, again, don’t skimp on quality or quantity. Grind in some fresh black pepper and add a quarter teaspoon or so of dried red pepper flakes, which will give a little zing but not make the dish hot. Add a teaspoon or so of kosher salt and stir to combine. Now, taste it. It probably needs a little more of something, whether it be salt, vinegar or oil. Go ahead and adjust. Once you get it right, the hard work is over. To assemble, take a whole loaf of “French” or “Italian” bread that you got at a supermarket. You can use a real baguette here, but a truly crusty bread will actually lose something here, in my experience. I actually use a loaf that doesn’t really have a crispy crust but that will have a little chew to it. Again, you know your baker better than I do, so pick a bread that you like. Cut it in half, horizontally/lengthwise and scoop out some of the bread from the top and bottom. When finished, you will have a sort of trench. Two trenches, actually. Take your thinly-sliced protein and lay slices of it across the bottom of your trench. Now, pile on your impeccably seasoned sweet corn salad and spread it out evenly and put the top of the loaf back where it came from. Wrap the whole sandwich in plastic and put in your fridge overnight. If you can, put some weights, like a heavy skillet or canned goods on top. The next morning, unwrap the sandwich and cut into sections, making sure to cut carefully so the filling stays in place. Re-wrap the individual sections and send them to Denver with your intended, making sure to take one or two for yourself because you deserve to avoid bad airline food too. Afterword: My plane arrived first so I was able, in those pre-9/11 days, to head to her arrival gate and await her flight. She got off the plane and I said “Hey, Lovergirl,” my pet name for her. The first words out of her mouth were “That was the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten.” They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I say it’s through flattery. Right then, any nerves I might have had about my proposal were pretty much dissipated. Anyone who wants to flatter me upon first sight is right for me. I’d like to say that the sandwich was the best thing I ate in that entire trip but that would be a complete lie; the meal we’d had at the world-famous restaurant remains, to this day, the single best meal I have ever eaten. I can still recite the menu, although that is made easier by the fact that I have a framed copy of it, signed by that world-famous chef, on the wall in the dining room. As you may have guessed, when I proposed, she said yes. And, advance planner that she is, my girl actually was happy about the separate return flights. All the way home to middle-America from the west coast she was able, with the aid of a notebook and pen and without my involvement, to plan pretty much every aspect of our wedding. She so much enjoyed the solitary flight that allowed her to plan our nuptials that she didn’t even notice that I didn’t have a lunch for her to take back.