Up until this week, I had a handful of consecutive, successful culinary adventures under my belt, so it was only a matter of time before I screwed up.
Enter corn soup, massacred from One Perfect Bite.
With fresh summer corn on its way out — and me in desperate need of some easy, cheap food with leftover power — I opted to take on this liquescent collation. In hindsight, I should have stuck with corn on the cob and saved myself three hours and $3.
To give this a try yourself and/or follow along with the disaster I’m about to describe, check out the full recipe at One Perfect Bite.
I kind of enjoyed my first corn shucking, but that’s where the fun ended. I loaded the kernels, cobs and milk into a pot (despite being instructed to use a skillet or saucepan), and reached for the baggie of sea salt I gleaned specifically for this soup. Hmm. Looks like my roommate tossed it in the garbage earlier this week. After some whining, I used kosher salt and hoped for the best.
But certainly the absence of sea salt and a skillet didn’t devastate this dish’s future, right? Oh no, it wasn’t that; it was probably the fact that I didn’t own a blender and tried to use a hand mixer to puree the finished mixture. That’s funny, right? What’s funnier was my next ill-fated attempt to puree the mixture by pouring it 12 ounces at a time into my Magic Bullet. When that started leaking everywhere (and nearly electrocuted me), I poured the entire mixture back into my ill-advised pot, stormed out to my car, sped to Walmart, trounced anyone in my way, bought the cheapest blender they had and returned home — determined not to abandon this already-sad, pathetic corn soup.
Seeing as the mixture sat on the stove for a full hour before stuff hit the fan, my stomach was empty and my frustration was mounting. After several rounds in the blender, my impatience got the best of me and I abandoned the appliance.
In keeping with not keeping to the original recipe, I nixed the cilantro (because I hate it), and I don’t own any fancy “smoked” paprika, so generic had to do. At this point, I was delirious, so I just started throwing in all sorts of things — most notably cayenne pepper.
In the end, the flavor wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, but the consistency was horrendous. Instead of a delightful soup, I got some spicy corn-flavored liquid and the daunting task of chewing chunks of corn kernel remains. The more daunting task, though, will be unloading the five servings of this stuff that’s currently sitting in my fridge.
Total time? Too long.
Cost? $1 for three ears of corn + six cups worth of milk.
Overall success relative to expectations? 0 out of 10. If I really have to explain this to you, you are probably incompetent enough to more miserably fail at this than I did.