Tremendous Mexican Street Corn

Elote. ELOTE. Mexican street corn. Tremendous. We're talking about corn — corn on the cob, the most American food except it's actually Mexican, corn was domesticated in Mexico nine thousand years ago, look it up, the corn situation is HISTORICALLY a Mexican situation — slathered in mayo, sprinkled with cheese, dusted with chile, hit with lime, and grilled until it has those beautiful char marks that make you want to weep. Real weeping. The good kind.

And here's the thing — there is a CRIME being committed in this country, in restaurants, every single day. They take this masterpiece, this elote, this perfect handheld piece of art, and they SHAVE IT OFF the cob and put it in a CUP. They call it 'esquites,' which is fine, esquites is a real thing, esquites is delicious — but they serve it as elote. And it is NOT elote. Elote is on the cob. Elote has a stick. Elote requires commitment. You eat elote, you are going to wear elote. That's the deal. That's the contract. The cup version is for cowards. There. I said it. The COWARDS' VERSION.

This recipe is the real one. On the cob. With a stick. The way the street vendors do it in Mexico City — and I have eaten elote from a cart on a corner in CDMX from a man who never spoke, just nodded, just handed it over, changed me as a person — and we're using cotija here, real cotija, not parmesan, parmesan is great but parmesan is in a different movie. Mexican crema. Tajín. And we are NOT skimping. Restaurant kitchens cut this corner every day. Don't.

You make this once and your summer cookouts are RUINED — in the best way, the best way possible. You can never go back to plain corn on the cob with a pat of butter. Butter corn is fine. Butter corn is for the BEFORE TIMES. After elote, you are in the AFTER TIMES. People will ask you to make it at every barbecue for the rest of your life. They will not invite you anywhere unless you bring the corn. You are now the corn person. Accept it. Be the corn person. It's a tremendous life. Beautiful.