Popcorn is my favorite indulgence. Not microwave. Not air popped. But made on the stove – oil in the bottom of a pan, continuous shaking, kernels popping open. It’s my favorite.
As a child it was a special treat shared with my mom. She often made it while we waited for my older brother and sister to walk home from school. We’d sit in the kitchen (me up on the counter), looking out the window, chatting, and eating popcorn (occasionally tossing a few pieces to the dog). It was a time for the two of us. Filled with smiles and laughter.
Now it’s a treat after a long day. And by treat, I mean dinner. A big bowl of popcorn, a sliced up apple, and I’m good to go. There’s something soothing about standing at the stove, watching each kernel pop. Then settling down on the couch, feet up, bowl of fresh popcorn on my lap, and letting the day slip away.
Tonight was a night for popcorn. It was perfect.