Popcorn and I don't have the best history together. You could compare us to Ike and Tina Turner, popcorn being the abuser and me the victim. If only I could somehow escape its buttery clutches. Somehow no matter how much will power I exude popcorn seems to find its way back in, whether it be the "lite" variety or the extremely buttery kind that leaves my clothes greasy and me feeling bloated.
There really is nothing like a good overdose of buttered popcorn to compliment a summer blockbuster or cheesy romantic comedy. I guess my real love affair with popcorn began as a teenager. I was working at a small movie theater, the kind where the box office staff, ticket-taker and usher were all the same person. It being a mom-and-pop run business, they were proud to provide the most comfortable and "at-home" atmosphere available, while showing foreign and independent cinema. The theater overcharged for a weird movie shown on an old shaky projector that sometimes burnt the movie reel. Even still, people came in droves to eat popcorn, drink cappuccinos and read subtitles. I loved this job because of its ease and simplicity, despite my employer's expecting me to understand how to operate a cappuccino machine (a skill far outside my pay range).
I vowed at the beginning of my employment not to eat the popcorn. My sister warned that once I started I'd never stop and I think I was off carbs at the time. Anyhow, I went a steady 3 months without so much as a kernel when I was told that I'd be taught how to use the popcorn popper. This would ultimately be my demise; how could I be expected to make popcorn without tasting it, the only true validation as to whether I was any good at this?
