On popcorn, and perhaps also, on larger problems Alice tends to muck herself up in.
White cheddar popcorn is supposed to be one of those snacks you savor somewhat, oh, I dunno, daintily, I guess. The shape of popcorn demands a one-at-a-time consumption if you’re not to look like a complete slob. Not that anyone actually does this.
No. Listen. I’m serious.
Popcorn is served in such venues—movies, fairs—that call for this carefree, devil-may-care sort of enjoyment, right? An air of, “Oh, I’m not really eating this for sustenance. I’m eating this for the Victorian (or possibly, Edwardian) wonderment that we might partake of this popped corn for the sheer amusement of it all. Ho-ho!”
But instead of carnivals, I always seem to end up eating popcorn, oh, on my break at my hourly-waged job in the break room underneath the fluorescent light, when I’m really hungry. I tear open the bag and—the problem of Slobbery, it’s compounded by the fact of this dusting of cheddar cheese and quite possibly and probably, MSG—I start really enjoying the taste and the texture and everything about the popcorn too much, and instead of taking small, genial bites, I’m soon grabbing these craven handfuls, loading my mouth. I get dissatisfied with those moments between the popcorn-in-the-mouth moments. I become completely greedy, ugly and white-dust-spittley-fingered. Someone who hopes to God that no one else will walk into the break room while I’m making such a raging fool of myself, eating this popcorn. Someone whom, at any rate, they certainly wouldn’t want for their friggin’ popcorn ad.
White cheddar popcorn is supposed to be one of those snacks you savor somewhat, oh, I dunno, daintily, I guess. The shape of popcorn demands a one-at-a-time consumption if you’re not to look like a complete slob. Not that anyone actually does this.
No. Listen. I’m serious.
Popcorn is served in such venues—movies, fairs—that call for this carefree, devil-may-care sort of enjoyment, right? An air of, “Oh, I’m not really eating this for sustenance. I’m eating this for the Victorian (or possibly, Edwardian) wonderment that we might partake of this popped corn for the sheer amusement of it all. Ho-ho!”
But instead of carnivals, I always seem to end up eating popcorn, oh, on my break at my hourly-waged job in the break room underneath the fluorescent light, when I’m really hungry. I tear open the bag and—the problem of Slobbery, it’s compounded by the fact of this dusting of cheddar cheese and quite possibly and probably, MSG—I start really enjoying the taste and the texture and everything about the popcorn too much, and instead of taking small, genial bites, I’m soon grabbing these craven handfuls, loading my mouth. I get dissatisfied with those moments between the popcorn-in-the-mouth moments. I become completely greedy, ugly and white-dust-spittley-fingered. Someone who hopes to God that no one else will walk into the break room while I’m making such a raging fool of myself, eating this popcorn. Someone whom, at any rate, they certainly wouldn’t want for their friggin’ popcorn ad.
Labels: railing/raving
posted by Alice at 9:17 PM
3 Comments:
I confess that I myself have a popcorn . . . problem. I tend to make it from scratch, and make a gigantic pot of it. And then . . . I eat the whole pot. We're talking a pot you make soup in, not a pot you boil an egg in. I have no self-control. And if Philosophy Girl brings home a bag of this crack-laced poppedy goodness called Indiana Kettle Corn (chipotle cheese flavored), then you can forget it. I've turned off the phone, and I'm not answering the door, and I've pulled all the shades. Because really, no one wants to see such gluttony. But I might share with you, Alice. Maybe!
Oh, Girl of Cracker, you are not alone. And you know what's really good on homemade popcorn? Worcestershire sauce. Though I haven't met anyone who's agreed with me on that yet, I swear it to be true.
Goddamn, but where does one purvey this Indiana Kettle Corn? It sounds like pure evil and I want some.
Oh, and you were right about Trader Joe's. Also pure evil and I want some.
Oh, but of course, you have to go to clinically clean and schmancy Whole Foods, a.k.a. Whole Paycheck, to procure the delicious corn. And, of course, it's worth every penny!
But usually, I go the cheapo route. If you wanna make up your own (addictive) spice mix for homemade popcorn, mix together 1 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon garlic power (hey, it's gotta be useful for something), 1 teaspoon cumin, 1/2 teaspoon paprika, and 1/4 teaspoon (or however much you like) some sort of ground chili powder(cayenne is fine, but I use ground chipotle). Oh, sweet Jesus. And don't skimp on the butter, por favor. There's nothing I hate worse than dry popcorn. Blecch. What's it supposed to solve?
I am SO going to try the Worcestershire sauce popcorn, and my vegetarianism be damned. That was one of my favorite cooking smells as a kid--it's one of my mom's secret (well, not now) ingredients in many a dish.
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