My wife and I have a Friday routine. I leave from home and she from work and we meet at the grocery store in the late afternoon. We do our shopping for the coming week, then go over to a mall for any odds and ends we might need. Of course we have spent more time in the mall lately with Christmas coming. Once done we drop by a restaurant/bar called La Cage aux Sports for a beer. One of the traditions at this restaurant is an abundant supply of hot popcorn available at the entrance. This has prompted my wife to point out that, with teaching and shopping done, her weekend begins when we arrive at the popcorn.
With this in mind I thought I would present her with the opportunity to savour that weekend feeling anytime by giving her a popcorn maker of her own for Christmas. Certainly not the same as a big cinema-type popper at the bar, but a smaller hot-air affair.
I did a little online research and was frankly surprised and a bit disappointed that none of the poppers was getting very good reviews. But I forged on and selected a Betty Crocker Movie Nite popper and jar of Orville Redenbacher‘s popping corn.
Last night we gave the popper a try and let me tell you Movie Nite is a very appropriate name for the device as it reminded me of a shoot-out scene from some old western film. We followed the directions to a tee, placed the prescribed amount of popping corn in the chamber, positioned a bowl more than six inches below the shoot to allow for easy popping, turned on the machine and were pleased that it worked, albeit loudly. Within seconds of the whirring and spinning several semi-hot unpopped kernels of corn had been fired from the popper. It sounded like a bank heist gone wrong as my wife and I took cover on the floor to avoid the flying kernels that were pelting off cupboard doors and kitchen appliances. The bowl could not contain these initial pellets but merely acted as a catalyst to launch them hither and yon.
“Get down. Get down’” I shouted as I threw myself over my wife to protect her from the bullet-like projectiles whizzing about out kitchen (or maybe she threw herself over me…). I did what I believe one is supposed to do in these dangerous situations, I shouted “We’re all going to die,” followed by the classic “Look out she’s gonna blow.”
Soon the normal popping had begun and the danger seemed to have abated. We slowly came up from our foxhole and found a bowl of half-popped, half-unpopped corn. We separated out the Old Maids and returned them to the chamber for a second try at popping only to once again experience a shooting gallery.
I’m not sure if the popper is going back or not, but it may be some time before we try it again! Needless to say I would not recommend this product, but if you do buy one, think about getting a flak jacket and some goggles as well.