I'm packing us a picnic dinner, and I thought to myself, "Hey, I should pack us some sort of special snacky something." My friend Carrie's voice popped into my head, poetically describing white chocolate popcorn the way some describe wine. Mmmmmm. Yes. Salty sweet goodness to munch on while sipping hot chocolate and meandering through magically lit flora and fauna. That's the way I saw it in my mind's eye.
So, standing there in the big box store in front of all the popcorn, another voice pops into my head. I heard the reporter from Sunday's 60 Minutes segment called The Flavorists. These folks concoct chemicals that companies add to food to make it taste sweeter or citrusy-er or chocolatey-er so that you, sucker consumer, continue to buy the product. I stood there in front of the processed, pre-packaged popcorn thinking about what kind of fake butter flavor was in each different kind of popcorn. This project began to lose it's appeal. Then, I saw this.
One ingredient: popping corn. The directions sounded simple enough. Heat oil. Drop in a kernel. When it pops, add lots more kernels. The end. Did I mention it was cheaper? Significantly so. I bought it.
After I'd put the girls down for their nap and done some dishes, I decided now's as good a time as any. Best do this while they're asleep and I can work in peace. Out of the cabinet comes my favorite silver frying pan. Out of the pantry comes the vegetable oil. The directions said to cover the pan by an eighth of an inch. Done. Medium high heat. Done.
Now, we wait. I scanned facebook and amazon until I heard some cracklin' and sizzlin'. Open bag. Grab single kernel. Toss in oil.
Nothing happens. Hmmm. Must not be hot enough. I have a moment of clarity here. I think ahead long enough to grab a cookie sheet to place over the two right burners I wasn't using, and a small plate over the baby burner behind my favorite, silver fryer. Just in case the oil spashes a little like bacon grease or something.
That kernel was still just sitting there. I imagined it was getting pretty soggy from the grease and just wasn't going to pop now. I turned back towards the computer to give the oil a bit longer to heat up.
POP!
Gasp! It worked! That little guy popped himself right out of the oil and landed on the counter beside my stove. I picked him up and looked at him. Looked normal. Smelled normal. Didn't feel greasy at all. Then, I ate it. Not bad, not bad. Alright. Time to get down to business. As per the bags instructions, I covered the bottom of the pan with kernels.
It took about ten seconds for it to start popping and for me to realize I was in trouble. As each kernel popped, it flung hot oil out in a little trail behind it. A white comet of popcorn and hot oil. Who knows how many kernels were in that pan. Enough to cover the whole dang thing.
Oil landed on my arm as I reach for the pieces landing on the stove. It smarts. Like bacon grease or something. As I pull my shirt sleeves down to protect my arms, the kernels start popping in rapid succession.
poppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppop!
Pieces are landing everywhere, even the floor. I bend down to pick them up, and firey little trails of grease land on the part of my hair and the small of my back. The floor is becoming a a bit slick. I stand up. Oil is splattered all over the stove and the counter.
Here comes another moment of clarity. I somehow think through the popping and spitting grease to grab my colander and I slam it upside down on the pan in an attempt to contain those little suckers. That's where the clarity stops. I just stand there staring at the pan and blue plastic colander, wondering when in the world all those kernels will be done.
poppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppop!
It seemed like it would never, ever stop. The popcorn stayed contained, but the grease. The grease! It was everywhere. I finally grabbed the handle of the pan and took it off the burner and set it on the cookie sheet (thank goodness for the cookie sheet!). And still, it kept on popping.
When the popping finally (FINALLY!) stopped, my eyes landed on the wall behind my stove. My house was built in 1904, so there's no backsplash. Just wall. Look closely at the picture above. See all those grease spots? None of them existed before today. My husband will notice. My husband who doesn't do a darn thing in the kitchen will notice those grease spots and ask what happened. How will I explain this?
How will I get all this vegetable oil off the floor? And my Keurig? Oh, my poor Keurig. I'm sorry, Keurig. I love you.
And that's where we are, folks. I'm typing this at my kitchen island, staring at the mess. That greasy, popcorny mess.
