does language eclipse feeling, does it eclipse the eclipse.
--Diane Suess, frank: sonnets, pg 13 

Making something from almost nothing, that’s what I love about cooking. There were five ears of corn in my fridge, and two cobs in the freezer. I stripped the ears, charred the corn in my cast iron skillet, and let them cool while I ran to the dentist.

Yesterday evening I sliced the kernels from the cob, filling a glass container to the brim. From the far recesses of my mind came an idea: Corn broth. I’d never made it before but it was there, perhaps I read about it in a corn chowder recipe.

After a glance at the internet, I put the cobs into a large pot, along with a shallot, onion ends from the freezer, many garlic cloves, and salt. Covered it all with water by two inches. I brought it to a boil and let it simmer for two-ish hours. The house smelled sweet. And the broth tasted not too sweet. I’m planning to eat it with rice noodles, tofu, and cilantro with a drizzle of chili oil.

The thing about a corn cob is that it isn’t nothing. Cutting the kernels from it like I did, which is similar to how factories process corn, leaves plenty of food and juice behind. Gnawing at it with teeth is much more efficient at removing everything edible to humans, and the remains have long been ground into animal feed. But sometimes I don’t want to eat corn off the cob, and slicing down the sides is quite satisfying.

Often I’m looking at what I think is nothing, but there’s more to it. I will never eat a corn cob, but now I won't throw them out. Would-be trash becomes a base for soup. This is the only kind of hope I can abide these days. Tactile, simple, just requiring doing the thing – saving, thinking, assembling. And some salt.

Momentum is more difficult to make than broth. But here I am with both because you’re reading this. Thank you! 

xo Devin

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