If there ever is a nostalgic food that transports my husband back to childhood, with his siblings crowded around a long kitchen table, it would be fried corn mush. There were ten kids growing up on the Schlabach dairy farm, six boys and four daughters. When the sons were old enough to attend elementary school, they were expected to rise early every morning, seven days a week, and help with milking chores. On dark, cold, winter mornings, their warm beds would hold them captive, even after Dad had texted them all on their cell phones, using sweet, smiling, emojis, encouraging them to come to the barn.
I'm joking. He beckoned them with the sharp order of a drill sargent, "Boys, get up." Sometimes it took Dad several trips inside, with a shout up the stairs. Several ingenious boys kept their shoes right beside their beds; when Dad came inside, they'd pick up the shoes and make clumping noises from the comfort of their beds. In the kitchen below, it sounded like they were rising and shining. If Dad's footsteps were ever heard on the stairs, world records were threatened to be broken in the Fastest Dressed category.
After two hours of choring, the boys would stumble back to the warmth of the kitchen, drawn by the smells of frying meat and eggs. A typical breakfast would be some sort of meat, eggs, perhaps fried potatoes, bread, and a freshly baked and frosted cake every morning, to be eaten with cereal at the end of the breakfast. Those skinny boys needed all the calories they could ingest, with their fast metabolism and hard physical labor.
Once in a while, they'd come inside for breakfast, after milking a whole herd of cows, and Mom would be frying corn mush! Those days were golden. The only cloud on the horizon would be the sisters smelling the corn mush and deciding that yes indeed, this morning they wanted to join the boys at the breakfast table, even though they hadn't been out in the barn working. I know this because many times i have witnessed adult Schlabach siblings teasingly argue about this gender specific injustice. Utopia would consist of being able to eat as many pieces of this fried delicacy as your heart desired. With ten kids, utopia was never realized.
Larry remembers his dad taking loads of dried field corn to the feed mill for it to be ground into cornmeal. Mom would use this to cook into vats of a corn pudding; the hot mixture would be poured into pans and allowed to cool overnight. The next morning it would be thinly sliced and fried in butter, to a crisp gold. It was peasant food: cheap and filling, but oh so comforting. The Schlabachs have a very specific way to consume these yellow rectangles. You need fried eggs, buttered slices of bread, and perhaps some ham or fried potatoes. The pieces of mush are sandwiched on the bread, along with the egg, and eaten with the meat or potatoes on the side.
In my home of origin, my grandma Lizzie occasionally cooked up a batch of corn mush. My mom would fry it in a skillet and then we would eat it with a generous drizzle of maple syrup. I never realized until adulthood that this humble porridge had a fancy name: polenta. It originated in northern Italy, and is often eaten warm along side tender meat and gravy.
Several times a year, usually when we are skiing in Montana, I cook up a pot of corn mush and fry it for breakfast. It makes the men in my family very happy. I often fix it on March 24th, my late mother-in-law's birthday. I tell Larry to eat his fill, and we reminisce about his mom. She was a jewel of a woman, short in stature, but with a lion-sized heart, who created warm memories for her children from a simple peasant food. She is remembered with great affection.
Twenty-six years ago, on a weekend in February, all ten siblings showed up in Sarasota, Florida, surprising Ralph and Sarah on their 45th wedding anniversary. Of course, there was fried corn mush for breakfast on Saturday, at Mike and Ruby's house, served with a side of laughter, and an extra helping of old stories.
Frying up a batch of corn mush for my siblings, during a Montana vacation.
Six of seven Hershberger kids.
A griddle full, lined up like soldiers.
If anyone young or old, would like to know how to make this four-ingredient masterpiece, here are some visual steps and the recipe.
Corn Mush
5 c. water
1 1/2 c. cornmeal, preferably ground to medium coarseness
1 Tbsp. flour
2 tsp. salt
In a heavy-bottomed pot (such an unflattering description), bring the water to a boil over medium heat. As it warms, stir together the cornmeal, flour and salt. When the water is boiling, slowly pour in the dry ingredients, a little at a time, vigorously whisking all the while. Turn the heat down to the lowest setting and switch from a whisk to a wooden spoon and keep stirring. Within a few minutes, the mixture will thicken. Cover the pot and allow to cook for 15 minutes on that lowest setting. Stir every few minutes, scraping along the bottom of the pot. The consistency should be thick enough to nearly hold a spoon upright in the middle of it. Pour the hot mixture into a 9 x 5 inch loaf pan, smoothing the top. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight or at least for 2 hours.
Remove the corn mush from the pan by turning it upside down onto a cutting board. It should just slip out. Carefully slice it into thin pieces, about 1/4 inch thick. Heat a griddle or nonstick pan over medium heat; add a generous pat of butter and lay the pieces of mush in. Allow them to cook and crisp for about 10 minutes before flipping them over. Add more little pats of butter and fry the second side until golden. You should get 15 - 18 slices from one batch.
You can eat the fried corn mush like a Schlabach, with fried eggs, buttered bread and meat.
Or you can be a Hershberger, and top the golden rectangles with maple syrup.