No visit to my aunt’s house would be complete without a giant tub of popcorn being served. She knew my love for popcorn, and she loved to spoil me.
My cousins and I would gather around the wooden dining table in the spacious kitchen and, handful after handful, we would race to the bottom of the bowl. I had the advantage of being the eldest, but also not chewing too much, so I was ahead of everyone.
To my right sits the youngest of the cousins, Ahmad, only three years old at the time. He would go at the popcorn at his own pace, not interested in the pressure of the race.
Once in a while, I would pick up a soggy piece of popcorn and it would disgust me to the point where I would lose my appetite. “Why did you chew it and put it back?” I would ask Ahmad. He would deny it, every time. This happened a lot.
Almost every visit; every tub of popcorn. My guess was that he would take one and, finding it too chewy or maybe not salty enough, would just put it back, soggy.
Fast forward 10 years.
I’ve moved out of Lebanon. I’m living on my own and could have as much popcorn as I want. So, I bought a pot and some popcorn and started figuring out the best way to make it. I hate the microwave kind.
Long story short, it turns out that popping popcorn in a pot produces a lot of steam., the steam collects on the underside of the lid and then, as the drops get larger, starts to fall onto the popcorn. Like a small water cycle of sorts.
The end result: The occasional soggy piece of popcorn.
I’m sorry Ahmad.