RIP The Popcorn Popper

Our crotch-height Polish landlady hobbled down the rickety stairs of our walk-up, banged on our door and treated us to a moment of high-pitched hyperventilation. She had pulled this stunt every night for a week.

The landlady did not enjoy the stench of burnt microwave popcorn. Neither did my college roommate. This was 1988 and I was in the middle of my popcorn phase. I have gone through a lot of culinary phases. Here are the most notable:

• The carrot phase
• The garlic toast phase
• The peanut butter ball phase
• The brick of frozen kale phase
• The Cheerios phase
• The naan bread phase
• The chicken liver phase

I enjoy a great capacity to eat one food for weeks. Many of you may be daunted by such dedication; you will need to find the light on your own time.

Meanwhile, my college roommate feared we would be evicted, so she purchased for me a Black & Decker Handy Pop 'n Serve. It remained functional for 2.5 decades. Until last week, when the engine shrieked like a little girl and ceased to administer a pop. 

I unplugged the unit and plugged it back in just to check if sparks would continue to shoot from the electrical outlet. But alas. The Pop n' Serve had passed on. 

I kind of miss the old guy, but Tom insists that our new Great Northern Hot Air Popper produces a crisper kernel which he favors, the traitor.