There are few thing I love more than popcorn. It has a magical quality about it really. If you think about it, so much like that acorn from which a mighty tree doth grow. First of all, I can convince my deranged mind that eating popcorn is just like eating my vegetables. Lettuce not get into an argument of semantics here. Let me have my crazies. And eat them too. For some reason, my gastric bypass pouch will allow me to eat my weight, and possibly yours, in popcorn. But even before my surgery, I could pack it away. When I was growing up we had this old, gray kettle. This will blow some people’s minds but you can actually make popcorn on this thing called a stove by putting it in, wait for it, wait for it, HOT OIL. Yes, it’s all true. You can make popcorn without a microwave. And, just like the microwave, it’s all about listening. Popcorn needs to feel cared for. You can’t just expect it to pop and be done with. It will so burn you, the bag, itself. Oh, it needs major TLC. I remember Jiffy Pop, this giant, silver brain of a thing which would spill it’s contents out on the stove. Jolly Time popcorn came in red and blue cans you had to undo with a little string like dental floss. Microwave popcorn is handy. However, what I am all about is MY popcorn. One hot air batch sprayed with that vague butter spray that says it has no calories but tastes buttery so it must be made of something. Pig livers. I don’t know. Then sprinkled with garlic salt and parmesan cheese. I am thrilled to say my four and five-year old girls think there is no better popcorn on earth than that. Even movie theater popcorn, which is pretty good in and of itself. It is divine. If you’ve never made it and eaten the entire bowl for dinner well, you’ve simply never had an eating disorder. I mean, really good popcorn. There’s even song called Popcorn by a group called Hot Butter. Or is it the other way around? I refuse to look it up. I’m dying for my own bowl of garlic popcorn and parmesan is a real bitch to get out of a computer keyboard.