The Best Corn Recipes for Summer, According to Eater Staff
It's hard to think of a corn recipe that beats a freshly grilled corn on the cob, slathered in butter. That is until you consider all the ways corn can be transformed during the summer: tossed with cotija cheese and lime juice in an esquites-style salad, whisked into a fluffy cornbread batter and baked off with sage leaves, and warmed with fresh seafood like scallops and clams. You can even turn corn into milk for a perfect pairing with lattes and matcha. Here are Eater staffer's favorite recipes for using corn this summer. Scallops with Corn and Tomatoes
Gina Homolka, Skinnytaste
I love a recipe with a worthwhile effort-to-impact ratio, and this one from bloggers Skinnytaste qualifies. Despite only requiring a handful of ingredients (the Boursin does some heavy lifting here), I've had multiple people tell me that this basic scallops, corn, and tomato dish tastes restaurant-quality. The ingredients scream summer, and using fresh corn is worth the effort here. If scallops are tough to procure for you (or a little pricey), I've found that a sturdy whitefish like halibut (ok, also pricey) or cod can stand in just fine. — Missy Frederick, cities director Mexican Street Corn Salad
J. Kenji López-Alt, Serious Eats
This esquites corn dip is so versatile that it's become my go-to recipe for every summer party. With crumbles of cojita cheese, diced jalapeño, a generous pour of lime juice, and a sprinkle of chile flakes, this side dish is bursting with flavor. You can use it as a dip for tortilla chips (Tostitos Scoops are ideal), an additional topping at a taco bar, or simply spoon it up on its own. If you don't feel like shucking, grilling, and removing kernels from a corn cob, then a great hack is to buy a can of fire-roasted corn, which gives you that same charred flavor. You can also totally customize it, adding cherry tomatoes when in season or black beans for some extra protein. The whole shebang takes about 20 minutes and guarantees you'll have the most colorful dish at the potluck. — Jess Mayhugh, managing editor Grilled Corn, Asparagus, and Spring Onion Salad
Pati Jinich, NYT Cooking
This is my go-to easy grilled vegetable salad in the heat of summer, when I've already put thought and planning into a marinated main protein. Prep your dressing while the grill heats up and position a trusty cutting board beside it so you can easily slice up the fresh tomatoes while your asparagus, corn, and green onions get even grill marks. I recommend giving your green onions that high-heat spot for a quick char, with your asparagus in the least hot spot on your grill so they can cook through and your corn in the perfect middle ground. Cut your corn off the cob into a bowl and quickly chop the rest of your vegetables for a thrown together salad with plenty of citrus and salt. It's the perfect side for grilled fish, juicy steaks, and even tofu kabobs. — Emily Venezsky, editorial associate Corn, Tomatoes, and Clams on Grilled Bread, Knife-and-Fork-Style
Joshua McFadden, Six Seasons
Living in Portland, Oregon, I feel fortunate to have Joshua McFadden's award-winning cookbook Six Seasons to guide me through the Pacific Northwest's microseasons. In the Late Summer chapter, corn takes center stage with seven recipes, five of which I've made. Each is worth your time, but the dish I look forward to most is the clam toast. The kernels are added at the last step, so they stay crisp and provide a sweet counterpoint to the savory, white wine-soaked tomatoes, briny clams, and thick slices of garlic-rubbed grilled bread. It's worthy of a dinner party, but don't wait for an occasion to make it. — Kaitlin Bray, audience director Sage and Honey Skillet Cornbread
Greg Atkinson, Bon Appétit
Cornbread is kind of my thing during the holidays but, luckily, summer's gloriously languid barbecue season calls for it too. Bon Appétit's 2007 recipe for sage and honey skillet cornbread is one of the best — endlessly customizable and easy enough to not be intimidating. The recipe calls for heating a heavy-bottomed cast-iron skillet in an oven for 10 minutes before melting (or browning, if that's your preference) butter in the skillet and artfully placing sage leaves into it. You then spoon the cornbread batter over those sage leaves so that when you eventually flip the skillet over after baking and cooling, you get a lovely sage leaf mosaic on the golden-brown top side. There is no downside to bringing this cornbread to any party or barbecue, except for the fact that there won't be any leftovers. — Nicole Adlman, cities manager Vietnamese Corn Milk
Andrea Nguyen, Viet World Kitchen
Vietnamese corn milk, or sữa bắp, is the only thing I want to drink this summer. It's easy to prepare: simply simmer the corn kernels and kob in a potion of coconut milk, water, and salt until the corn flavor is infused, then blend and strain. From there, you can sweeten the milk with condensed milk and add flavorings like vanilla or pandan. I love to top my corn milk with fluffy whisked matcha but it would also be wonderful as a base for a sago pudding or frozen into a popsicle. — Kat Thompson, associate editor
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Eater
2 days ago
- Eater
The Best Ground Chicken Recipes, According to Eater Editors
If there's one thing I keep in my freezer at all times, it's ground chicken. It might seem kind of boring — reminiscent of the ground-chicken-and-broccoli diets of protein bros — but ground chicken is surprisingly versatile (and, yes, leaner than beef and pork). It can be thrown into spaghetti, stir-fried into rice bowls, or added to mapo tofu. You can even turn it into a salad with tons of fresh herbs, like larb. Here are Eater editors' favorite recipes for using up that pack of ground chicken that you undoubtedly also have stowed away in your freezer. Namiko Chen, Just One Cookbook If I'm being honest, my go-to application for ground chicken is meatballs: these basic ones from Smitten Kitchen, any sort of tsukune (Japanese izakaya-style meatballs), or experimenting with new recipes (these had promise earlier this week, though I found the accompanying greens a little one-note). But I'm going to shout out a recipe that involves even less work than meatballs: soborodon. This colorful, simple donburi (or rice bowl) makes good use of ground chicken's delicate flavor; I love the speediness of the recipe for a weeknight meal (and I usually have the ingredients on hand), and the color balance of the dish adds visual appeal. It also makes a terrific next-day bento. — Missy Frederick, cities director Kaitlin Leung, The Woks of Life Mapo tofu is traditionally made with pork, but sometimes when I have the craving for this spicy, numbing dish — and only have a pound of ground chicken in the freezer — I use chicken instead. It still works! For me, the highlight of this recipe is the doubanjiang (spicy chile bean sauce) and the Sichuan peppercorn; the rest I've adapted with great success. Silken tofu is preferred, but I've used firm in a pinch and, again, the animal protein can be switched around (or omitted entirely!). The whole dish comes together in half an hour which is why it's on constant rotation in my household. — Kat Thompson, associate editor, Eater at Home José R. Ralat, Texas Monthly I have a strongly held belief that all lighthearted social gatherings could be improved by the addition of queso fundido, a Mexican dish of melty Oaxaca cheese, charred onions and vegetables, and often, a shower of still-sizzling chorizo sprinkled over the top. The only catch? Some members within my extended, blended family have a tenuous relationship with spice. That's why I sub ground chicken, seasoned with Ancho chile powder, smoked paprika, garlic powder, and a little dash of ground white pepper to bolster the many layers of smoky heat without relying on prohibitively hot peppers like serrano or jalapeño. Ground chicken's versatility allows it to replace its more fiery counterpart without losing all sense of the dish's original taste or identity. — Jesse Sparks, senior editor Kris Yembanroong, Night + Market Cutting back on carbs can be fun if you ignore pseudoscience (looking at you, Mr. Brady). Night + Market is one of my favorite stops in LA, and after my first visit, I knew we had to procure Kris Yenbamroong's cookbook, which provides an outstanding overview of larb. Yenbamroong states that once you master the ground chicken version, you unlock other possibilities. You can alter the heat and flavorings, like graduating from the pedestrian ground red pepper flakes you'd use on pizza to grinding red Thai chiles instead. That alone is enough to liven up ground chicken breast. The timing and order of mixing ingredients play key roles in this deceptively simple, high-reward dish; pay attention to that, and make sure you've got fresh cabbage or lettuce and the rest of your pantry ingredients beforehand, and this quick, light meal will be aces, even on a weekday. — Ashok Selvam, regional editor, Eater Midwest Dan Pelosi, NYT Cooking Dan Pelosi of Grossy Pelosi fame is known for his approachable recipes. This recipe is a prime example: it's just ground chicken, an egg, Parm, panko, and pesto. The results? Well, to stay with the alliteration theme, let's call them perfectly pleasant. You mix everything into a bowl, shape the meatballs, and throw it all into the oven for 10 minutes, though the air fryer works well too. The pesto adds lots of flavor for little work. There's a reason everyone loves Grossy Pelosi! — Bettina Makalintal, senior reporter Dining In With Eater at Home Highlighting the people, products, and trends inspiring how we cook now Email (required) Sign Up By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Eater
18-07-2025
- Eater
Is Building Your Own Backyard Barbacoa Pit Worth It?
is a writer and high school social worker living in the Hudson Valley with his wife and two sons, and has been an Eater contributor since 2021. About ten summers ago, there was a chef who operated a food truck on the main street of a Hudson River city. Boisterous crowds gathered in his gravel lot; many considered his food the best in town. Then, midway through his third summer, he shut the serving window and put caution tape around the lot. Each day, dressed like an oil prospector — no shirt, suspenders, bandana tied around his neck — the chef dug a pit with a shovel and pickax in the corner of the lot as passersby stopped and stared. About three months later, he, the truck, and the picnic tables disappeared, but the pit remained. It was rumored that the chef was in a hospital following an emotional breakdown; others said the city shut him down for code violations, but it's all hearsay. The true story might not be scandalous at all. The point is, when you dig a big hole alone without explaining yourself to your neighbors or city hall, there are questions. This past June, a new speculation occurred to me from chest-deep in a pit of my own digging. As I raised a weary wave to my next-door neighbor, I thought: maybe, like me, that chef was making a barbacoa pit, and maybe, like me, he was pushed to the brink. Pit cooking projects are usually managed by a group. If you go it alone, the exertion required to dig the hole and line it with stone can tax your body and then your mind, especially if you consider how unnecessary it is; you can make convincing barbacoa in the oven or an Instant Pot, for that matter, unless you need room for a whole goat (although stateside, you seldom do). Alas, in May of last year, despite a few herniated discs, arthritis in my upper and lower back, degenerative disc disease, spinal stenosis, and nerve damage in my arms and legs (all exacerbated by the stone grill I built a few years back), I decided I'd make barbacoa the hard way — alone. You don't need to wait for me to reveal that it was a bad idea. But after a year of physical therapy and circuit training, I was feeling stronger than ever, so I allowed myself to start dreaming of the day I'd sweep dirt away from over an earthen oven pit, uncover it in a burst of fragrance, then unearth farm-fresh lamb, revealing its color and juices as I carefully unwrapped each supple agave leaf, all before an adoring crowd. I decided I'd debut the pit at one of my monthly last-Sunday-of-the-month cookouts. Barbacoa is traditionally a Sunday custom, after all. In June, I emailed the 30 usual invitees promising barbacoa in July. It was time to go to work. I had no memory, actual or ancestral, to refer to since I'm not Mexican, and although I first heard of barbacoa while living in the barbacoa-heavy region of Nuevo León, Mexico, back when I was 15 and 16, I never actually went to a farm-style barbacoa. Instead, I consulted YouTube. From across Puebla, Hidalgo, Guanajuato, Nuevo León, Guerrero, Arizona, Texas, and California, people have uploaded videos of their barbacoa: kids leaping over the pit during construction, a man in a cowboy hat talking to the camera about refractory brick, and teams of four lowering an iron basket of meat into the inferno late at night. Videos from Hidalgo showed barbacoa de borrego (lamb) seasoned simply with salt, allowing the flavor of the enveloping pencas de maguey (agave leaves) to predominate. In videos from other regions like Oaxaca and Guerrero, people first marinated the meat in an adobo. Almost every video showed how to prepare a pot of consomé with white onion, garbanzos, rice, and sometimes carrots and chiles to catch the drippings below the meat. Cooking times ranged from six to 12 hours. After watching about three dozen videos, some several times, I outlined the following 10-step process: Dig a pit with a diameter of 3 feet and a depth of 3 ½ feet. Line the pit with bricks or stones. Marinate lamb meat (or goat or beef) in adobo the night before the cookout. 14 or 15 hours before meal time, burn wood and roast agave leaves over the fire. Continue feeding the fire for 3 hours. When the fire settles into a glowing bed of coals, lower a large pot with chiles, garbanzos, rice, onion, carrot, and salt into the coals and fill halfway with water. Place a grill grate on top of the pot. Place roasted agave leaves around the grate, leaving space in the middle so meat drippings fall into the consomé. Pile meat in the center and lay more agave leaves over the meat. Cover the pit with sheets of raw steel (never galvanized, since that can poison you), then a drop cloth, and shovel dirt over it until you can't see smoke rising. 10 hours later, shovel away the dirt, remove the steel sheets, and pull everything out carefully. I expected to finish preparations quickly. The first step was simple: dig. But after digging the first foot, I was already overwhelmed by the mound of dirt. I built two large, raised garden boxes next to the hole to avoid an eyesore. Those filled quickly, and then I had two new garden boxes, a big hole, and a giant mound of dirt. I embraced the eyesore. After digging two feet, my nine-year-old son declared he was ready to help — though he mostly dug for treasure with a kid's garden shovel. To his credit, he found pieces of a Victorian-era plate (according to a neighbor with unverified expertise) and about two dozen big intact shells from a geological age when the mountain we live on was underwater (according to that same neighbor). He also helped spray paint a sheet of plywood with a skull and crossbones and the classic message, 'Danger, Keep Out,' to place over the hole when we weren't working. We finished half the digging on the first day and the rest over a week. Mike Diago The next step was to line the pit with stone. The materials required for my initial plan — stacking and mortaring cinder block lined with refractory brick — rang up around $8,000 in the Home Depot virtual shopping cart. Since my wife already thought this project was dumb, I had to maintain that it would cost nothing — the premise of my initial appeal — so I closed the Home Depot tab and ventured to Facebook Marketplace. A woman needed her ancient fieldstone wall removed and was willing to give the stone away for free, with the caveat that all the stones be removed at once. There was no way I'd be able to take it all, but over the phone I was able to negotiate some of the free stones in exchange for carrying a couple large ones to the top of the hill of her property to be used as a headstone for her deceased cat. When my son and I arrived at the top of the hill carrying the largest stones we could handle, we dropped them with a thud, panting, and then saw the wooden box containing the dead cat lying against the tree. There was also a shovel there. I wasn't sure if it was a gentle suggestion, but looking at my son's anguished face, I knew I wasn't about to dig this lady's cat grave. I appreciated the stone, but I had my own problems. My son and I stared quietly at the wooden box for a beat and then returned to the car. We loaded maybe an actual ton of stone into the back of our compact SUV over four or five trips and threw it into a heap in our yard. Then things got hairy. The morning after the stone haul, I could barely stand. I ended up at the doctor's office, face down on a gurney, while the doctor jabbed a fresh needle of back loosener between my lower vertebrae. He said my slipped discs had slipped more, further impinging the nerves. I was supposed to rest. But now, in addition to a mound of dirt and a hole more than half the depth of a grave, there was a mountain of stone. I had to line the pit with it before the last Sunday in July. For a few days, I could still barely move around, so I lay on the couch thinking about all the pursuits I've had to limit or abandon over the years: that time I spent four years learning the flamenco guitar and then had to quit due to nerve and tendon issues; kayaking due to the disc issues; basketball, soccer, and more. I had all the sad and desperate thoughts that accompany premature deterioration. Finally, I thought, 'Why do I keep doing this? No one asked for barbacoa in a pit.' I never came up with an answer, and while I'm sure there is one, I wasn't sure it mattered. For better or worse, I thought, if I don't do the things that excite me, I might, in a way, cease to exist. Still, it was hard to escape the meaninglessness of these pursuits. Then I remembered a quote I read from Kenny Shopsin, the late NYC diner owner. He said, 'The only way to not be crushed by the stupidity of life is to pursue something energetically and gain as much satisfaction as you can before it gets stupid — and just ignore the fact that it's stupid. The whole thing is shitty. You're gonna fucking die.' It's not a cheerful proverb, and I don't take anyone's quotes as gospel, but it sounded like something that could have come from my own brain. Mike Diago About a week before my cookout, I gingerly climbed back into the hole. My son stood at the edge, passing stones and looking down at me as I fitted them in a staggered pattern. There was a new pain in my hip shooting down my leg and another in my elbow, but I stopped feeling morbid about it, accepted it as part of my fabric, and did my best to engage my core. Within three days, I dry-laid all the field stones in a circle. At the last minute, I realized the corrugated steel sheets I'd found to cover the pit, also free on Facebook Marketplace, were galvanized and thus poisonous, so, without time left to track down free raw steel, I had to run to Home Depot and spend money despite my earlier herculean efforts to avoid doing so. Also, the Latin grocer that typically has pencas de maguey was all out, so instead, I decided to wrap the meat in aluminum foil, with dried avocado leaves scattered within the package. The night before the cookout, I made an adobo by seeding, stemming, toasting, soaking, and grinding a handful of dried guajillo, ancho, and morita chiles in the mortar along with garlic cloves, oregano, cumin, bay, salt, apple cider vinegar, and a couple of canned chipotles en adobo. I placed mutton ribs and lamb shanks into the sauce and let them marinate overnight. At 4 a.m. on the morning of the cookout, I made a cup of coffee and started the fire. Sitting there in the dark, watching the fire, and holding my coffee was serene. Through the firelight, I saw the full rustic outdoor kitchen I'd envisioned in my family home years before. As the first birds chirped and the sun rose, a friend arrived to sit with me and stare into the fire. Then my eldest son came down, followed by my wife and toddler son. She stood next to me, and he sat on my lap. After a while, I got up, lowered the consomé and the meat into the pit, covered it, and went inside for a nap. Guests arrived at 5 p.m. Two friends brought handmade tortillas and salsas, another who owns a fancy liquor store brought good tequila, a few helped me unearth the lamb, and we all composed tacos that were perhaps the best I've made. (I vowed to use more avocado leaves in my cooking; the grassy and anisette notes it lent to the smoky adobo were tasty and surprising). All the guests loved the food and told me so. The back pats and fist bumps brought some satisfaction — I might have felt bad otherwise — but I'd already got what I needed early in the morning. Mike Diago It's now a year later, we're beginning another cookout season, and I have more plans for the pit. Over the last month, I've been building a stone frame around it, which I will finish with stucco and a custom lid, to match the stone grill beside it. Nothing energizes me more than this project. On weekend mornings, my wife and kids wake up, call my name, and then look out the back-facing bedroom window to find me leveling bricks and spreading refractory cement after a 7 a.m. trip to the hardware store. I'm so singularly focused that it's hard to pry myself away and go to my real job on weekday mornings. Tomorrow, I'm going to pick up some free white tiles from Facebook Marketplace. The plan is to have guests paint the common birds of New York State on them and then fasten them to the frame's exterior — a bonding experience with an enduring stamp. My back hurts, but I'm glad I built the pit. Going forward, I will do other similar projects. Better to lose feeling in an arm or leg than to lose feeling altogether.
Eater
30-06-2025
- Eater
The Best Dishes Eater Ate in San Antonio in June
The amount of excellent food available in San Antonio is dizzying. With your Eater editors dining out frequently, that means coming across lots of standout dishes and drinks that need to be shared. 200 E Grayson Street, #100 It's hard to choose a favorite from the magnificent dishes I had here, but the Pishkado crudo was a shared plate I ate entirely by myself, which speaks pretty loudly to its quality. This iteration was made with a base of red snapper cut into squares, mixed simply with cucumber, red onion, and radishes in equal-sized pieces, plus cilantro, mixed into a tahini-based vinaigrette with dollops of rich olive oil. The small touch that made it stand out was the use of whole coriander seeds, rather than ground coriander. At just the right moments, they added a bigger crunch than the vegetables, and a jolt of flavor in an otherwise mild dish. 812 South Alamo Street, Suite 103 The tasting menu at Michelin-starred Mixtli celebrates a 20-ish year period in history, up until the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed in 1848. Through that lens, the kitchen uses cooking techniques and ingredients from Mexicans, Texicans, Spaniards and other Europeans, as well as Indigenous Americans who roamed the larger land that was Mexican territory. There are many standout dishes, but one that captured my attention was a course of acorn and pecan mole over root vegetables with amaranth, a South American seed similar to quinoa. The sous chef who served it that evening explained that the acorn in the mole is in the form of flour, which was taste-tested from the few varieties available until they found the right flavor. Pecans, acorns, and root vegetables are all things the Indigenous peoples of the area would have gathered. The chef left them uncut and imperfect, with long, twisted growths and roots intact. Most of the people waiting in line ahead of me at Pinkerton Barbecue for lunch were there for the meat. I was there for the Baller Mac and Cheese — a large serving that comes with a scoop of moist brisket, and a serving of extra cheese spooned over the top. The mac and cheese here is already great, with slightly oversized noodles and a good combination of cheeses that makes it nostalgic, similar to the boxed stuff, but melty enough that you know they used the good stuff. 221 Newell Avenue, the Pearl If there are beets on the menu, I am ordering them. And anyone who loves beets should order the version on Isidore's menu right now. The embered vegetables are roasted over the already-fired grilled bones from some of their steaks, and served in a fermented black persimmon-based sauce. The secret ingredient hidden under the beets is pecan butter — something the staff says is always on the menu here in some form or another. It would have never occurred to me to put these ingredients together, but they work so well. The creaminess and sweetness of the pecan butter mixed with the earthy beets do not change the profile of the ingredient, but bring out a little of their ripe sweetness. The sauce also has a touch of acid that balances the dish.
