Cornmealy

She slid a glance with a trace of longing at my one remaining hush puppy. I forked it into my mouth and chewed it down, letting the pleasure of its cornmealy goodness show on my face.

Cleaning steamers sucks. You have to put them in great vats of water with cornmeal and let them sit. […] I pulled my hands out of the cornmealy water, dried them on my apron and said to my mother that I was taking a little break.

“Tamales. Just unpeel ’em out of the husk. There’s napkins on top.” They were hot and cornmealy and full of meat.

I was far more taken with the pastry chef’s nightly dinner rolls: cornmealy anadama, rustic country Italian, soft potato flecked with spring chives.