Wednesday evening, smack-dab in the middle of our dinner hour, a storm blew up from the West.

The clouds heading our way over the ridge were fearsome and no one, least of all me, could sit still with such a scene right outside the kitchen window. In between bites of our boiled potatoes with brown butter (for the kids) and tomato bread pudding (for the adults), peas and applesauce (for kids and adults), we kept running out on the deck to scan the horizon.

The sky boiled and roiled.

And roiled and boiled.

And then the wind started. First we could just hear it as it came howling over the ridge. Then we could see the distant trees bend under the lashing.

It roared louder. The kids whimpered. Tin lids and window screens (okay, so only one of each) flew.

And then the power went out and the storm blew over.

We finished our supper in dejected darkness and went to bed early. There’s really not that much to do in the country without power and water.

I awoke at midnight, in the dark throes of a panic attack. My foggy brain was one-hundred percent certain that the tomato bread pudding was rotting on the kitchen table, that the cookies I had made for a pre-wedding dinner had gone stale and worthless beside the bread pudding, that the ice cream I had made earlier that day (for the fourth freakin’ time) was turning to peanut butter soup in the freezer, that the strawberries, peaches, and all other frozen produce was reduced to a drippy pile of thawed mush… And, oh dear. What about my morning coffee! I would have to load all the kids into the car and drive the eleven miles to town in search of my fix. But Mr. Handsome was supposed to take the car to the garage which meant that I would be stuck at home with five kids, a sink full of dirty dishes, piles of rotting, melting food, and a splitting, caffeine-withdrawal headache to boot! I simply couldn’t do it. My insides crumbled. I raised my head and flipped over, punching my pillow with my fist, whimpering and moaning—

Wait. What was that? Could it be? A shaft of light was shining in through the doorway. I sat up and looked at the clock. It was blinking red numbers. I switched on my bedside light and yelped as my corneas retracted into my brain. Then I punched Mr. Handsome, “The power’s on, honey!” and bounced out of bed.

And that’s how it came to be that Mr. Handsome and I did the dishes at midnight.

P.S. All the food was perfectly fine. Don’t tell the food safety police.

This same time, years previous: Quiche

So I was all ready to hop into the shower the other night (this is code for “I was buck naked”) when the phone rang. My child answered it and thoughtfully ran it right up to me, disregarding the obvious signs that I was otherwise occupied. I took the call because, really, I can talk on the phone without clothes just as well as with.

Is this too much information?

Anyhow, the call was really important. It was about corn. My friend had just made it for supper and she was very clear in her message: my life would be much enhanced if I made the corn. A bonus: it was Indian style.

I hung up the phone, got my shower, cozied up in my bed to write, and …. the phone rang again. It was my friend with more observations about the corn recipe. She was spooning the juices into her mouth as she talked, describing to me the play-by-play details. I hung up the phone again and then ran downstairs to 1) return the phone to its rightful place in the kitchen, and 2) fetch the appropriate cookbook.

Back up in bed, between writing about plum cake and editing photos, I read the recipe. It did look good, I had to admit.

Fast forward to today. A bucket of unhusked corn from yesterday’s pathetic picking lurked in the back hall, so I sent Miss Beccaboo and our newly arrived Fresh Air boy out to the compost to husk it for me. (The boy returned to the porch early—he’s a little shell-shocked, understandably.) Then, a little later, after running errands and slapping together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the kids’ lunch, I set the children up in front of the computer to watch School House Rock while I made my lunch, the spicy Indian corn.

I ate a bowl right off (and scorched the roof of my mouth in my haste) and then I rushed the kids off to rest time so I could sit myself down and tell you about it. And eat a second bowl.

It’s good stuff, my dears—spicy, sweet, creamy, crunchy. (Aren’t I good with adjectives? I think I have a real gift.) If you don’t have a blog platform from which to vent your corny ecstacy, I suspect you’ll want to call up a couple good friends who will listen patiently as you recount the delicious details. You’ll be so absorbed in describing the fireworks that are going off in your mouth you won’t even care if the person on the other end of the line has any clothes on or not.

And that’s a fact.

Indian-Style Corn
Adapted from Nourishing Traditions by Sally Fallon

This would be delicious served with fried or grilled chicken and a spinach salad (or in winter, creamed spinach).

5 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons black mustard seeds
½ teaspoon fenugreek seeds
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon fresh minced ginger
2 medium onions, peeled, cut in half and thinly sliced
1 (or 4, if you dare) jalapeno peppers, seeded and minced
½ cup sweet pepper (red, green, or orange), small dice
½ teaspoon turmeric
2 cloves garlic, minced
5 cups fresh, uncooked corn, cut off the cob
1 1/4 cups plain yogurt
½ teaspoon salt
1/4 cup cilantro, chopped

Melt the butter in a large saucepan on medium-high heat. Once the butter is melted, toss in the mustard seeds and stir for 15 seconds. Add the fenugreek, red pepper, and ginger. Stir once and add the onions, jalapenos, and sweet peppers. Saute till the vegetables are tender but not browned, about 8 minutes. Add the turmeric and stir once.

Reduce the heat to medium and add the corn and garlic. Cook for about five minutes or until the corn is tender, stirring frequently. Add the yogurt and salt and heat through. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the cilantro. Serve warm.

Yield: six servings

This same time, years previous: garden tsunami, seasonal regret, and hamming up Luke.

I’m obsessed with discovering The Perfect Way to serve each fruit that comes into season. It’s ongoing, this obsession of mine. I experiment and tweak, toss, and research. My goal is to have The Perfect Way (or two or three) all figured out for when each fruit hits its peak. That way I’ll be prepared to get the most bang for my buck. Or flavor for my fruit.

I’ve got tomatoes down pat: they belong, completely and totally, in bread pudding. Think it sounds old-fashioned and stodgy? Well, it’s not. With roasted tomatoes and bread cubes and garlic, eggs and cream and Fontina, it’s anything but. In fact, I dare you—no, I double-dog dare you—to make it and tell me I’m wrong.

Other tomato favorites include Oven-Roasted Tomatoes and Valerie’s Salsa, and then there’s a salad I haven’t told you about yet. I’ll get to it, promise. But maybe not till next year. Now don’t panic! If it’s truly good it will stand the test of time. You wouldn’t want to know about it if it didn’t, right?

For nectarines, there’s this tart. I made it with peaches, but I really think it’s best with nectarines—prettier and more flavorful.

Sweet cherries belong in this ice cream. Don’t argue with me about this.

Strawberries go in this pie and in this salad, sour cherries in this crumble, apricots in this cake, rhubarb in this cake, and red raspberries in this pie (or this cake).

Then come plums. I’m still working on them—they don’t frequent my kitchen all that often—but I found a cake that I think might fit the bill.

The recipe comes from Deb. I’ve learned to trust her recipes, and if her recipe, heaven forbid, isn’t exactly right, then there are boatloads of comments that add suggestions and tweaks. Her blog is A Most Excellent Resource.

Anyway, this plum cake came from her. At first I thought it was too simple, nothing outstanding or flashy about it. In fact, Mr. Handsome, bless his dear, ogrish heart, took one bite and said, “It has no flavor.”

“Pooh on you,” I retorted.

But then after a couple pieces he was forced to amend (with no coercion on my part) his earlier statement. “It’s actually pretty good,” he murmured. (And just so you know, the cake has plenty of flavor, in a gentle sort of way.)

As for the kids, they fell on it like piranas (or like their mother had been feeding them weird Indian food all week), and the whole cake disappeared in a flash. So maybe it is flashy after all.

The cake consists of a simple cake batter topped with slices of juicy plum and then sprinkled with a crumb topping. The bottom part tasted part-cake, part-cookie, the fruit was juicy-sweet (and gorgeous, to boot), and the crumb topping was just what crumb toppings are supposed to be—crumbly. You can leave the topping off, if you like, but I liked the additional rich, sugary crunch. You know me.

By the way, fruits that are still haven’t made it into The Perfect Way category include peaches (believe it or not) and blueberries (though I have several strong contenders), so if you have any good leads, please pass them on. I’m on a mission.

Dimply Plum Cake
Adapted from Deb at Smitten Kitchen

5 tablespoons butter
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1/3 cup oil
zest of 1 orange
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla
1 ½ cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
4-8 juicy plums, depending on size, halved (and sliced, if large) and pitted
crumb topping (see below for recipe), optional
whipped cream, for serving, optional

Cream together the butter and brown sugar. Add the eggs and beat well. Beat in the oil, zest, and vanilla.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon.

Gently beat the dry ingredients into the wet.

Pour the batter into a greased, square 9-inch pan. Arrange the plum halves/slices on top of the batter, cut-side facing up. Sprinkle with the crumb topping and bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes.

Serve warm or at room temperature (with whipped cream and coffee).

Crumb Topping
From Mennonite Country-Style Recipes by Esther H. Shank

A jar of these crumbs were just hanging out in the freezer, waiting to sprinkled. I keep these on hand for crumb pies or the crumb topping for muffins, though truth be told, I don’t make crumb-topped muffins all that often. This recipe will make enough topping for 4 or 5 pies.

3 cups flour
1 cup brown sugar
1 ½ sticks (3/4 cup) butter
1 teaspoon cinnamon, optional

Using your fingers, mix all the ingredients together till sandy-crumbly. Store in jars in the freezer.

This same time, years previous: I’m back and Tomato Bread Pudding