Popcorn Shop

Every day when I’ve exhausted myself of thinking about ways to convince the store-front owners in the stripmall to synchronize their flashing ‘Open’ signs, my thoughts inevitably turn to the popcorn shop.

How do they stay in business? I’ve never seen anyone go in there before. I’ve never been inside, but I’ve often wondered about the owners. Who could possibly be so passionate about popcorn as to dedicate an entire store to it? From a consumer’s perspective, who could possibly be so passionate about popcorn that they’d be willing to drive to a separate store that is NOT at the mall and NOT a location that could feasibly get casual snackers passing by?

Could they sell enough in a month’s time to balance out the cost of leasing the store space, maintaining electricity, compensating employees, and creating inventory?

How much do they charge for this popcorn, anyway?

Historically, and much to my mother’s great disappointment, I have not been a popcorn connoisseur. I’ve not even been a fair-weather fan, with the exception of Smartfood. My mother has been known to make entire meals of popcorn-- she learned it from her father. Apparently it was somewhat of a family tradition in her childhood home to make a Sunday evening meal of popcorn and milk, cereal-style.



I couldn't bring myself to take a picture
of the jar of bacon grease. Too intimate!

I never understood it.

As a child, popcorn always made me cough and choke. This was long before butter was an acceptable word and/or concept in our household, and WAY before I read several articles online about how awful microwave popcorn is for the human body. (Google cautiously, friends—the facts that are out there are NOT for the faint of heart.)

It was with extreme reluctance that I first took a bite of homemade bacon popcorn, and it was only to be polite. I never imagined I’d like it or ever—heaven forbid!—crave it.

Russ’s recipe is the Pandora’s box of the popcorn world. If you make it, you, too, will wonder how on earth a popcorn shop can possibly stay in business. Who would want to eat anything but bacon popcorn ever again?

Here is what you need:

-A smallish saucepot (with a lid) that you don’t particularly care about. Remember, bacon grease can be very stubborn, and you’ll want to have full access to every tool in your cleaning arsenal. This is not a job for your fine Calphalon.

-popcorn kernels

-bacon grease (start saving it early and often! We store ours in a glass jar in the fridge. The more bacony bits and crumbs that end up in the jar, the better the popcorn will be.)

-a bowl that is much larger than you think you’ll need

-salt, but not much

Here is what you do:

1.       Decide how much you’ll make, and how dangerously you’d like to live. I prefer a 1:1 ratio of popcorn kernels to bacon grease. Russ opts for the healthier 2:1. I suppose it would be wise to begin with Russ’s ratio, because if you start with mine you will never go back.

2.       Melt ¼ cup bacon grease in the pot over medium-high heat until it looks like oil.

3.       Toss in ½ cup popcorn kernels and put on the lid.

4.       Keeping your hands in constant contact with the handle and the lid, jiggle the pot around on the burner. Don’t let those kernels be still for more than a second or two.

5.       When the action starts, get ready to really clamp down on that lid or you will have a big mess. It will be loud, and it will happen quickly.

6.       When the ‘pop’ sounds slow down to about every two seconds, it is time to dump the popcorn into the bowl.

7.       It’s worth it to use a spatula to scrape any remaining “oil” onto the popcorn. Trust me.

8.       Salt cautiously and enjoy exuberantly. Keep a glass of water nearby. Try not to think about the details of how this miracle came to be.