PASSIONATE RATIONS

And the award for best popcorn goes to….

A long time ago, in a galaxy that now seems very far away, I landed my first job at a General Cinema theater.  It was the perfect job for a teenaged Star Wars fan, minimum wage though it was.  The only benefit was free movies, but that’s a lot when you’re sixteen.

Though I kept up the facade that I was a movie connoisseur, such that it only made sense I would work in a theater, the truth was it was less the movies that drew me to the silver screen than the popcorn.

I have never been able to resist the aroma and salt-buttery crunch of well-made movie popcorn.  Where better to feed such addiction than the place where the kernel is Snack King?

Note, however, that not all movie popcorns are equal.  If you venture out to different theaters from time to time, this truth will become apparent.

Many theaters have bags of the stuff popped elsewhere, shipped in and warmed in bins, resulting in a kind of barely edible Styrofoam.  Or, even if popped on site, many theaters use butter substitutes to muck it up.  Indeed, many-a-customer thought us to be of this variety because:  (1) our popper was located in small room behind one of the movie screens, not in plain view of customers and we hauled it up front in large plastic bags which we poured into bins; and (2) our popcorn topping, which we poured into warming dispensers at the counter, came in white plastic jugs that resembled laundry bleach containers.  Thus, customers were incredulous when they tasted the product.  They routinely commented that we had the best popcorn in town.  Why?  Because, indeed, we did pop in-house and we used a topping that, while clothed in a less-than-appetizing fashion, did contain real liquefied butter.  It simply doesn’t get much better than that.

Let me remind you now that the only benefit of the job was free movies.  That meant that, like the general public, I otherwise had to pay for my concession items, including popcorn, if you can believe that.  On minimum wage that was a good half hour’s worth of work.

So, you may ask, how did I cope?

Well, there was one exception to the no-free-concessions rule.  I could have all the free popcorn I wanted when I was the one scheduled to pop it.  Those were happy days.  No uniform required.  Music and gorging allowed.

As I made my way down to the popping room, I could feel the air become distinctly more humid with coconut oil.  I could hear disembodied sounds as the theaters’ Dolby sound systems amplified already-rolling reels.

The popping room was windowless, though vented.  While clean, everything was coated in a persistent oily film.

In the corner sat a huge, stainless steel kettle with a table-sized trap to capture the popped corn as it gleefully overflowed the popper.  There, I would spend six hours feeding the contraption oil and kernels as it spewed forth heat and exploded corn.  I bagged and ate as it popped.

Sometimes, on break, I would sneak into the narrow space behind the movie screen and watch from behind.  The screens are not opaque and the projected light lets the moving pictures leak through.  With the screen towering above me, in the silvery flickering light, I would daydream, pretending to be part of the movie.  It was meditative and I always returned to my popping with renewed vigor.

At the end of my shift, I wiped everything down with a solution of vinegar and water (no synthetic solvents near food, dearie; hence, the oily overlay).  To this day, the smell of white vinegar brings forth visions of flickering light, stainless steel, and fluffy mounds of popcorn.

Next time you visit a theater, remember to smile at your concessionaire.  It’s a sure bet she’s not the one making the profit off that overpriced bag.  And her name typically appears far down in the credits. But, on certain days in a dreary back room, she, too, may taste possibility and dream of stardom.  That is what the movies give us, and that, by far, makes the best tasting popcorn.