I am a popcorn monster. During the cold winter months in northern Minnesota when it gets dark early, there’s nothing like curling up in front of the fire with a bowl of popcorn. I don’t eat the popcorn from a bag that is prepared in the microwave — too much sodium. The kind I eat is prepared the old-fashioned way in a pot on the stove, then drizzled with just the right amount of melted butter and sprinkled with salt. Napkins are a must.
Years ago, I had a generous neighbor who would make batches of Honey Peanut Butter Popcorn, always sharing a big bowl of it with us. It would usually be during the summer time. We’d sit out on my front porch munching and visiting, and suddenly, the bowl would be empty. The snack that my neighbor had intended for my family was gone.
I hadn’t thought of that sweet, chewy treat in such a long time. But the other night, as I was sitting on the couch with my big bowl of buttered popcorn, watching The Biggest Loser, that popcorn treat popped right into my mind.
We had overnight guests last weekend. Two couples arrived on Saturday afternoon about an hour before it got dark. The guys immediately strapped on their snowshoes and hit the trail. The “girls” stayed back, with the intention of preparing toppings for the pizzas the group would be making together for our evening meal.
When I growing up my Dad often had a bag of Keebler’s Pecan Sandies stashed away in an upper cupboard, reserved for when he was craving a crunchy cookie with a hot cup of coffee.
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