In the midst of the corn husking (and much to my husband’s irritation), I got the urge to do a little cleaning of the freezers. I had to make room for all that corn, after all. Plus, it was a pretty cool place to hang out on such a hot day. (I’m so sneaky!)

Mostly though, I wanted to consolidate all the bags of grains that were banging around in the two big freezers and fridge freezer. I knew I had a lot of stuff, but I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. And how in the world is a person supposed to use anything up if she doesn’t know what that anything is?

So I did a quick reshuffle of the applesauce, spinach, and blueberries to make room on the top freezer shelf for the grains. As I shoved the bags into their new home, I jotted down each item. The upper shelf was quickly stuffed to the gills, so later when I got around to emptying out the kitchen freezer, I had to put all those little bags of grain into a brown bag and into the chest freezer. So I’m still not totally organized.

But it is much better.

Here’s what I found (most everything is under 5 pounds): hulled oats, nutritional yeast, hulled buckwheat, chickpea flour, semolina flour, cocoa, seven-grain wheat-free flour, spelt flour, rye flakes, maseca, dark rye flour, buckwheat flour, barley flour, yellow couscous, white couscous, millet, quinoa, ground flax, oat bran, pearl barley, amaranth, orzo, poppy seeds, cacao nibs, and ten pounds of wheat bran.

Clearly, it was time I made some bran muffins. So I made two kinds, both from Marion Cunningham’s breakfast book.

I am in love with that cookbook. I want to marry it. I’ve read the whole thing, and still I find myself picking it up and ruffling its pages in my spare time. I’m dreading the day when I have to return it to the library. Tears will be shed.

First I made the hardcore variety, bran muffins straight up—lots of bran, whole wheat, honey, molasses, buttermilk, and raisins. The batter was kind of dry and crumbly, like moist sand, and I was afraid they would taste like bran rocks and then I would have to fall out of love with Marion’s book and I really didn’t want to do that. So I was quite relieved to discover that the muffins were absolutely delicious—moist, sweet, dark, and deeply satisfying. I ate two (and a bite) for breakfast and was full till noon.

The kids, on the other hand, weren’t impressed. The boys each had one and mostly did not complain, and the girls each had part of one and complained a whole bunch, but none of them fussed about being hungry till the sun was high in the sky, thus proving that every cloud has a silver lining.

Which reminds me, I never heard what Mr. Handsome thought about them, so right now, this very minute, I am calling him at work to find out what he thought about the muffin I sent with him this morning.

It’s ringing…ringing…ri— “Hello?”

“What did you think of that muffin I gave you this morning?”

“It was good.”

“You liked it?” I fished.

“I think so. It didn’t strike me as dry or unpleasant to eat.”

Pause.

“It was good.”

Pause.

“I think I liked the other ones better, but then, you did, too.”

[Editor’s note: I never said I liked the other ones better.]

Pause.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m writing it down.”

“You’re writing it down?”

“Yep, every single word. You want me to play it back to you?”

“No. I don’t want to know what I said.”

Pause.

“Are you still writing it down?”

Pause.

“Are you there?”

So see? It really is a good bran muffin recipe. The man who doesn’t like super-dense foods even said so.

The second recipe, one that I made that afternoon and we ate with our supper of fried potatoes and sausage and scrambled eggs, was a much lighter, kid-friendly recipe. The recipe involved bananas and cake flour and butter and white sugar. It’s like a glorified bran muffin, still plenty good for you, but not whack-you-over-the-head bran-y. Everyone was very happy with them.

Did you know that bran muffins crackle when you put them in the oven? The bran actually talks, goes all snap and pop as it dries out. Or does whatever it is that bran does in an oven. It’s quite entertaining. And with the amount of bran in my freezer, it looks like I’ll have a bit of cooking snap-and-pop entertainment to keep me happy for a good little while.

Now I just need to figure out some good muffin recipes that call for barley flour and amaranth. Ideas, anyone?

Classic Bran Muffins
Adapted from The Breakfast Book by Marion Cunningham

2 ½ cups bran
1 1/3 cups whole wheat flour
2 ½ teaspoons baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 eggs, beaten
2/3 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup neutral-tasting oil (I used canola)
1/3 cup molasses
1/4 cup honey
1 cup raisins

Stir together the dry ingredients and then stir in the wet. Add the raisins.

Spoon the batter into 18 greased (or lined) muffin tins. Bake at 425 degrees for 12-15 minutes.

These are best fresh, but leftovers are good, too. They freeze well.

Banana Bran Muffins
Adapted from The Breakfast Book by Marion Cunningham

Marion suggests adding any or all of the following: walnuts, orange zest, and granola. I did none of that.

I made 12 muffins and two small loaves of banana bran bread which I topped with coconut and chocolate chips à la my favorite zucchini bread recipe.

12 tablespoons butter
2/3 cup sugar
2 ½ to 3 cups mashed bananas (about 4-5 ripe bananas)
3 eggs
2 cups cake flour
1 ½ cups bran
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 ½ teaspoons baking soda

Cream together the butter and sugar. Add the eggs and mashed bananas. Mix in the dry ingredients.

Spoon the batter into 24 greased (or lined) muffin tins and bake at 375 degrees for 15-20 minutes.

This same time, years previous: spicy Indian potatoes, blackberry cobbler

We did corn on Saturday.

Lots and lots of corn.

The kids stuck with us all morning, husking and silking, but by afternoon they had fizzled and it was mostly just me and my hubby plugging away, boiling, cutting, and bagging.

I didn’t actually want their help for those parts anyway—there was too much heat, sharp, and sticky going on.

We didn’t get as much corn as I hoped, I think because some of the corn was on the small side (boo to the husband-and-son picker duo).

But the ears were gorgeous—I think we found three bad spots total.

And we’ll have another, smaller picking later this week. It will be enough for the winter, that’s for sure. So I’m not complaining.

The kids discovered that since I was in corn up to my elbows, they could get away with using my camera. For once I got lots of pictures of me, mostly of my midriff.

In the course of the day, I managed to do two really, really stupid things.

First of all, I sunburned my back. It was totally unintentional, and Mr. Handsome, the sunburn police (whenever I’m out in the garden he accosts me with, “ARE YOU WEARING SUNBLOCK?”) never even thought about it.

Because I was working in the shade, you see. And it didn’t occur to me that I could get burned while hanging out under a bushy tree.

But you can. Boo.

The second stupid thing I did was listen to my husband when he said to come over and help him get the corn out of the boiling water. This was stupid because—and the thought did cross my mind as I walked over to help him, making me doubly stupid—when one person is working with boiling water and an ear of corn slips and splashes back into the kettle, they know it is happening and can jump back in time. But the other person, the one standing on the opposite side of the kettle of boiling water, has no idea that an ear of corn has just slipped and so that person—ME!—stands there like an idiot while boiling water splashes all over her tummy, arm, and down her leg.

I yelled and hollered, my husband laughed (he insists it was from surprise—BOO), and my baby said, “Mama, your tummy has tears!”

And then my kids fought over who would get to take pictures of the carnage.

I suppose you could say that the third stupid thing would be that I was wearing a cami with the bottom pulled up. That’s a stupid thing to do when you’re working outside and a) you’re a fair damsel and b) you’re dealing with boiling water.

But it was hot outside!
And the breeze around my middle felt so deliciously wonderful!
And it’s totally unfair that guys get to walk around with their shirts off!

If I had more experience living life with a bare belly, I probably wouldn’t have had all those stupid things happen to me. Because practice makes perfect, right? (And no, I don’t mean perfectly stupid, either.)

I made this roasted corn last week with the corn that my brother gave us.

And then I made it again, but a triple batch that time. Because it has lime and feta and so therefore is a fabulous summer dish/salad/whatever-you-wanna-call-it to keep in a jar in your fridge, ever ready to be called into service on a hot day when you don’t feel much like cooking. Amen.

Roasted Corn with Lime and Feta
Adapted from the August 2011 issue of Bon Appetit

The original recipe called for Manchego cheese and minced jalapeño, of which I had neither. The Feta and minced green bell pepper stand-ins were nothing to be ashamed of.

6 ears corn
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup minced green pepper
2-4 tablespoons minced fresh chives
1/4 – ½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons lime zest
2 tablespoons lime juice
½ cup feta cheese
S&P to taste
lime wedges, for garnish

Roast the un-husked corn in a 450 degree oven for 15 minutes, turning once or twice. Let cool before shucking and cutting kernels from the cobs.

Heat the oil in a large skillet and add the corn. Cook for about 5 minutes or until the corn starts to get tinges of golden brown. Stir in the butter and remove from the heat.

Put the corn into a serving bowl and toss with the remaining ingredients (not the lime wedges). The cheese will get a little melty—not only is that okay, it’s delicious. Taste to correct seasoning and serve immediately.

The corn can be chilled in the fridge, but allow to warm to room temperature before serving, or give it a quick zap in the microwave.

I’ve gotten a number of questions via emails and comments about our latest birthday bash, and most specifically, regarding the cake and interview.

The birthday cake goes first. Because I’m a firm believer in dessert first. (Not really, it just seemed like the right thing to say. I’m actually a very boring person—the kind of mom who insists on veggies first or else. The “or else” being, most often, no dessert.)

This cake was inspired by pinterest: this picture. I told my daughter that she could choose the flavors for her party cake, but not the decoration. That part would be a secret till the very end. She was delighted with it, I think, but there wasn’t much time for fawning over it. As soon as the candles were out, the kids tore into it.

To get the four cake layers, I made one recipe of dark chocolate cake and then sliced the two 9-inch cake layers in half. I don’t normally cut my cakes in half like that because I am horrible at cutting in a straight line, but with one kid stationed on the other side of the cake to yell orders at me (go down! go up! go down! go up!), it was actually pretty simple. So simple, in fact, that I think I’ll do it more often. The cake to icing ratio is better that way, especially when I use the creamy fluff frosting in between the layers.

Which is what I used for this cake: one recipe of the cream fluff frosting. Man, I love that stuff!

Then I iced the outside of the cake with mint buttercream, which was just this recipe but minus the vanilla and with the addition of 3 drops of peppermint oil and a bunch of green food coloring. Then I made a second batch because I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough. When I was all done, there was an ample cup leftover—it’s now in the freezer waiting to deck out some future cake.

To make the ice cream cone dump, I crumbled up a ball of foil and iced it with the classic chocolate frosting. (I made an entire batch of it even thought I was only going to use a tiny bit—I didn’t want to waste my good ganache or use the green frosting and then have green splotches showing through. So there’s a quart of chocolate frosting hanging out in the freezer now. I’m jealous of its chilly living quarters.) After the iced foil chilled in the fridge for a little, I stuck it on the cake and mounding more chocolate icing around the base to make it look flattened and smooshy, like ice cream looks when it hits pavement, or a mint green cake.

I made one recipe of chocolate ganache (minus the peanut butter) and poured it over the ball of “ice cream” and down over the edges of the cake. Then I stuck an ice cream cone on the ice cream and sprinkled multi-colored sprinkles on the ganache.

And then we ate the cake. And it was good.

Full disclosure: 7 sticks of butter were used in the making of all those icings.

(For the record, I think a delicious cake would be the dark chocolate cake with the cream fluff frosting between the layers and then a ganache over top—no buttercream. It’d be like a giant whoopie pie, mmm.)

Now for the birthday questions.

I’m not sure how this tradition came about but it was probably as a result of me wanting to get inside my kids’ head, see how they think, document it, and then, over the course of many years, use the questions as a way to track how they grow and mature. It’s the scholarly nerd in me poking through.

I didn’t expect it to become one of their favorite birthday traditions, but it has.

Starting when each kid is about five years old, I go off in a corner with them on their birthday and ask them a whole list of questions. As they answer, I scribble furiously in an effort to keep up. Then that evening, over the birthday supper or after the gifts have been opened, I take the envelope of all their previous interviews—an envelop that has not been opened for the entire year—and read each question and all its answers. Sometimes the answers are boring and sometimes they’re hilarious. Sometimes there are big changes from year to year, and sometimes the answers are surprisingly alike.

My questions are embarrassingly bad, poorly worded and simplistic. (But in my defense, I started out writing these for little kids.) Eventually I put the list of questions into a word document—I print off a new copy as needed. There are fifteen questions—here are just a few, to give you a taste:

*What are you most scared of?
*What is your favorite book?
*Who is God
*What do you not like about our family?
*What do you like about yourself?

What are your document-their-growth birthday traditions? I’d love to know….

This same time, years previous: limeade concentrate, brown sugar granola, Dutch puff