The year was 1998. I was in graduate school for a degree I would never end up using, a good fifteen pounds heavier and chock full of that youthful optimism we all possessed in our earlier twenties. On one particular night, my girlfriend and I were making our rounds at a required school function when what did I come across at the potluck table, but a magical concoction that would forever change my views on corn muffins (and potlucks for that matter). There in front of me sat a vintage Corningware plate, and on that plate was something that I could only describe as being thrown together last minute in the backseat of someone's car (assuming that car was equipped with an oven). Now, why would I try something so unappealing? Simple. It was the smell. Those muffins pulled me right in... buttery, sweet and loaded with whole corn kernels. They made my toes curl. I helped myself to seconds and probably thirds and fourths after the alcohol started to kick in... well, there's probably no need to get into that part of the story.
