When I was a little girl, I had this great book about a little bear who throws a party because his bear parents are out of town. He makes popcorn in a big black kettle, but all the party guests (I can’t remember if they’re all bears; I think rabbits come too) independently bring popcorn and then there’s so much that it fills up the whole house (even flowing from the chimney) and they have to eat it all before the bear parents come home. Sorry to have ruined most of the plot (I posted a link below so you can buy the book yourself if you want. There’s a twist at the end that I’m not telling you). The point is that I loved that book and I love popcorn.
I did not love the other night. Here’s what happened. I skimped on dinner so I could eat lots of popcorn at the movie we saw. In the time it took me to buy our tickets, Guy (without my knowledge) ordered popcorn with so much butter on it that I’m shocked either of us is alive.
Apparently, when the tub was halfway full, the concession stand man pumped gallons of the butter flavored crap into it and then repeated the process when the popcorn reached the brim. Flash forward. The previews end and I stick my hand into an oily mess that left my fingers glistening like sick disgusting diamond puke. Flash forward again. Five minutes pass and the popcorn cools to room temperature, turning the kernels into hard pellets of saturated fat. I couldn’t even eat the stuff.
In conclusion, if you love popcorn and books about popcorn, don’t go to the movies with my boyfriend. Do, however, visit a Garrett Popcorn Shop. There are several of them in the Chicago loop. The smell alone is worth the trip. The popcorn is scooped out of huge steaming vats and served to you in a parchment paper bag. I stopped by during my lunch break for a mixed bag of caramel crisp and cheese corn, which seems to be everyone’s favorite. The salty sweet combo is heavenly. It tasted like popcorn, redeemed.
What can I say? That was stupid. That popcorn tasted like crap. I won’t be doing it again.