The Gritty,Wonderful Truth About Cornmeal

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Let's face it: Not enough people get excited about cornmeal anymore. Somehow, the notion has gotten around that cornmeal is [1] bland, [2] difficult to digest, and [3] not a very versatile foodstuff . . . when nothing could be further from the truth! In the first place, cornmeal's delicate flavor and crispy-crunchy texture lend added palatability to nearly any fried food. (After all, what would pan-fried trout be without a cornmeal-batter coating?) In the second place, dried-and-ground corn happens to be high in dietary fiber ... which makes it good for the ole digestive tract. In the third place . . . well, we'll let Mary Rugo take it from here.

It's funny. Practically everyone loves fresh corn. Sit your family down in front of tender, steaming roasting ears right out of the garden and you're almost sure to provoke choruses of "Wow! Corn on the cob!"

Show that same tribe the same ears a few weeks later, however—when every grain has matured into stiff, dry flintand they'll turn up their noses with an "Eat that? Forget it!"

Native Americans and the early white settlers of this continent may have lived whole winters and made 200-mile forced marches while eating little more than cornmeal ... but today's average American generally thinks—if he or she thinks about it at all—that dried corn can only be fed to animals. Cornmeal (dried and ground kernels of corn), in fact, has now become such an insignificant part of our diet that many grocery stores no longer even stock it.

And that's a shame. Because cornmeal—either yellow or white—can be one of the most versatile foods in the kitchen . . . and the key ingredient in some of the most delicious dishes you or I will ever eat!

LOVE AT FIRST BITE

You could say—I suppose—that the love of cornmeal runs in both sides of our family. I grew up in Alabama (real corn pone country) ... while my husband hails from the mountainous, wheat-poor, north of Italy (where spaghetti is scarce and where country folk cook up a delectable bread-like cornmeal concoction called polenta).

When I was little, my father used to haul white corn in a burlap bag down to the mill on Choccolocco Creek. There as he waited for those slow, water-turned stones to grind the kernels into meal-Daddy would drop a hook or two in the creek's clear, brown water . . . and, if he was lucky, we'd have catfish for supper that night.

I still remember how—when my father got home—we used to clean those fish, roll 'em whole in cornmeal batter, ease the critters into the spittin'-hot fat in an ancient black iron skillet, and watch as they sizzled to crackling brown crispness. On the griddle, meanwhile, we cooked up the crunchy little corncakes we called hush puppies.

My mother probably didn't know it, but by rolling those catfish in cornmeal batter she was following one of the tenets of the great French chef, Escoffier, who believed that all foods should be coated—with crumbs and/or egg, or a mixture of milk, egg, and flour/meal—prior to frying. (According to Escoffier, such a covering browns quickly, thereby [1] trapping steam inside—and tenderizing—the victuals, and [2] acting as "a glove to protect the food within".) Maybe Mom only knew what worked. One thing's for sure: When we sliced through the piping-hot brown crust on those catfish and exposed the flaky, glistening, pearl-white flesh inside ... well, it was clear that Mom and that Frenchman both knew exactly what they were doing!

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