How sweet it is

That phrase elicits a distinct memory, a taste, for many: melted butter; the warm, crispy kernels. It’s, well, pretty sweet.

We plant 12 rows of sweet corn in our little patch each year and then patiently wait 10 weeks, give or take. This year raccoons discovered it was ready just a few days ahead of us, so my husband put up the electric fence to keep out the unwanted pillagers and we’ve been enjoying the fruits of our labor for the last two weeks.
Many families have traditions of “putting up corn,” so you may identify when I say this: While shucking, cutting, cleaning, boiling, and packaging, I had plenty of time to let my thoughts wander last weekend.

I thought about how much we anticipate that first taste of sweet corn–much like the first BLTs with garden tomatoes, the first time we dig up some new potatoes, and on and on.

We have a freezer full of beef and when we’re around home we rarely go more than 24 hours without dipping into that supply, so I don’t know what it’s like to wait all week to grill those purchased steaks on a Friday night.

I celebrate with a lot of beef, but admittedly I have no clue what it feels like to shell out a big chunk of my “fun money” on what could possibly be the only steak I have all month.

But there are consumers all over this country who do that. They wait. They anticipate.

That gives us in the beef business pretty lofty expectations to live up to. Beef must perform. It must impress.

This isn’t something I’m revealing for the first time. We’ve told you about the Relevance of marbling to the beef industry, how Quality improvements aren’t enough yet, and that Protein pricing urges beef quality. It takes years and a whole bunch of people to create that perfect eating experience.

No, this isn’t a new topic, but when I had the first sweet corn of the season—perfectly crispy, dripping with butter—in that moment I could hardly think of anything more satisfying.

And that’s what we want people to think of beef. Every single time.

May your bottom line be filled with black ink,

Miranda

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