I wasn’t even planning to cook. It was one of those afternoons where you open the fridge, stare, and close it again three times before doing anything. Mae texted me “do we still have that corn thing?” which could’ve meant anything, but I knew what she meant. The yellow one. Soft in the middle. Looked like cake but tasted like childhood if you scraped the edges.
I had the ingredients. Sort of. The right casserole dish? No. But that didn’t stop me. Martha Stewart’s Corn Soufflé had been waiting in my folder of “things I pretend I make often.” This was the day.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness keeps it blessedly simple on this one. Just canned corn (two kinds), sour cream, muffin mix, one egg. Melted butter like a whispered “you’re allowed joy.” You mix it, pour it, and bake until golden and puffed. It’s the kind of recipe that sounds like it has secrets but really doesn’t.
She wants it in a 2-quart dish, buttered just so. Forty-five to fifty-five minutes until just set. Mine? Was done when it felt done. And I used the chipped Pyrex with the green flowers from college because… it was clean.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t beat the egg. I just cracked it in and stirred like it owed me nothing. Used Greek yogurt instead of sour cream because that’s what was open. Also added a handful of shredded cheddar because I was craving something sharper than the original gives. Martha wouldn’t have approved. I didn’t ask.
Oh, and the butter? Burnt it. Used it anyway. Gave the whole thing a smoky edge that honestly worked.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The oven took forever to preheat. I think it’s sulking. I melted the butter and got distracted wiping down the counter, so by the time I poured it in, it had that nutty smell that reminded me of last year’s pumpkin thing Mae made and burned. She said it was intentional. It wasn’t.
Everything else went in one bowl, no order. I stirred with a fork. The corn made that slurping sound I love and hate. Mae used to hum while I made this. She didn’t this time—just hovered and asked when it would be ready like a small, hungry ghost.
I poured it into the wrong dish. Too shallow. It spread weird. But I baked it anyway. The smell filled the house. Like box mix and butter and… hope?
A Few Things I Learned
- It doesn’t soufflé. Not really. More like a scoopable corn hug.
- The yogurt swap made it tangier. Brighter. I liked it more.
- Burnt butter should be in everything.
- You don’t need the “right” dish. You just need a reason to turn on the oven.
What I Did With the Extras
Mae ate two servings then disappeared. I had some cold the next morning while standing barefoot by the sink. No plate. Just the serving spoon and silence.
Would I Make It Again?
yeah. but maybe with chili on the side next time. or nothing at all. it holds up alone.
That’s As Much As I Remember
It set funny around the edges. Got all golden and cracked like it had something to say.
I didn’t mind the mess. I never do, when it’s this kind of yellow.
FAQs
Not Really. More Like A Corn Pudding With Self-Esteem. But “Soufflé” Sounds Fancier.
Sure. If You Want To. But The Cans Make It Taste Like Tradition. And Ease.
Yes And No. It’S The Backbone. But If You Want To Be Brave And Try It From Scratch, I’M Not Stopping You. Just Don’T Blame Me If It Sinks.
Roast Chicken. Grilled Sausages. Or Nothing. Just You And A Fork On A Quiet Night.
Yep. But Use A Deeper Dish And Add More Time. Or Make Two. Freeze One. Feel Proud.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Corn Souffle
Description
Soft, Golden, And A Little Too Honest. Like Comfort With Crispy Corners.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Preheat the oven: Set your oven to 175°C (350°F). Butter whatever dish you have that feels right—mine was a shallow 3-quart Pyrex with a chip on one side. Martha says 2-quart. She’s not wrong. I just didn’t listen.
- Mix the chaos: In a big bowl, dump in 1 can whole kernel corn (drained), 1 can creamed corn, 1 egg (I didn’t beat it), 4 tbsp melted butter (mine browned, oops), 1 cup Greek yogurt (or sour cream if you have it), and 1 box corn muffin mix. Stir like you mean it. Add a handful of shredded cheddar if the day feels sharp.
- Bake it bold: Pour it into the buttered dish. Spread it out. Bake for 45–55 minutes, depending on your oven’s mood. Mine took closer to an hour because the middle was stubborn. The edges should puff, crack, and smell like Sunday.
- Let it sit: Give it ten minutes to calm down after the oven. Then dive in. Hot or cold. Spoon or fork. No judgment.