Through a long and convoluted route of emails and packages and hand-offs I found myself with a baggie of coarse ground heirloom red flint corn.

Whoever ground it didn’t hull the corn first, and I could see the bits of hull in the mix that otherwise looked like polenta. Those bits simply never cooked and were clearly never going to cook. So we had a dish that had, at its core, an amazingly deep and provocative corn flavor, but which was cursed with bits of tough, obviously nonsoluble fiber littered throughout.

It was sort of a bummer, but we all ate our bowlfuls anyway. The quickly sauteed wild-caught Florida pink shrimp and spicy okra with tomatoes helped ease it all down nicely, I must say.

I will admit that I loved my dinner despite the corn hulls because while I was chopping the okra my son came into the kitchen and out of nowhere asked if he could help make dinner. I was almost done with everything but realized that the shrimp weren’t peeled. I was going to cook them with the peels on (they stay moist and more flavorful that way and none of us mind shelling them at the table, least of all my dashing husband who, I kid you not, just eats them peel and all, a habit I find distressing but that he relishes), but I’d rather risk slightly overcooked shrimp than kick a willing kid out of the kitchen. So he stood at the sink and expertly peeled the shrimp while I cooked the okra.

I saw two ways to read his offer of help. The bad news would be that I’m so inaccessible and inattentive that the one way he can get my attention is to offer to help me in the kitchen. The good news would be that he wants to hang with me, really enjoyed our recent episodes of dumpling making,  loves being with me and loves cooking. I semi-tortured myself going between these two extreme readings as I stirred the okra and he peeled the shrimp.

Then we sat down to eat and I had my answer. His willing effort came from love. Every good cook knows food tastes better when you remember to add the love, and I could taste it in every bite.

But not just any sausage and not just any polenta. There was, yet again, sweet corn in our farm box last night. I could barely look at it. So I husked it, cut it off the cob, and stirred the kernels into a pot of polenta. I highly recommend this use for corn you don’t feel like eating but need to consume.

More interesting–to me anyway–was the sausage, pepper, onion combo I whipped up. There were some sort of sad-sack red peppers in the farm box too, so I roasted and peeled them before sauteeing them with some sliced onions and garlic in the fat rendered from cooking some sweet italian sausage and kielbasa from the sausage making party (I guess that’s what you’d have to call it) my friend and neighbor had last winter. We each brought ingredients for a variety of sausage, helped each other stuff them, and then had a great exchange. My totally awesome garlicky Toulouse-style sausage and the lovely spicy chorizo are long gone, but I put some of the other varieties in the freezer. They went very well with the polenta.

I got a little kicky in the kitchen last night. I threw some fresh sweet corn kernels (along with a giant dollop of ricotta and a handful of grated parmesan) into the pot of polenta. Assessment? Yum.

I topped the whole thing with half-moons of zucchini sautéed in olive oil with onion and garlic and a few pine nuts thrown in at the end for good measure. Pretty, easy, and everyone cleaned their plates. A bit of diced tomato on top wouldn’t have been out of place.

And yet, between the two of us, I don’t think you could find more “simply prepared asparagus and peas” (as she so deftly put it) if you tried.

And after all my yackety-yack, what did I cook? Well, see for yourself:

Yep, those are some late-spring, early-summer vegetables. Simply “braised” in olive oil and water (water! of all things simple!) with some fresh herbs (let’s not get too cliché… oh wait, it’s way too late for that) and served on polenta. What is it? 1985? But you know, it was just right for a Thursday on a sunny day that had turned into a clear-but-windy night in San Francisco. It was also fast. It’s such a crowd-pleaser I already posted the recipe (such as it is) over at local foods.

p.s. The carrot cupcakes were a hit (although they had a bit of that metallic thing chemically-risen baked goods can get–I’ll play with the proportions a bit). Cooking with 16 4- and 5-year olds is insane. They really like to stir. A lot. Next time I’m just bringing bowls of flour and water for them to work on. They also like to stick their fingers in their noses and mouths. A lot. More than once did I say “Calum/Serafina/Shai/Jacob/Vaughn, go wash your hands” and then 30 seconds later look over and say it all over again.