About twenty years ago, my father announced to the family that he did not wish to receive any gifts he could not eat. I believed that to be a very wise position.
So recently, for his 89th birthday, I sent him a can of “Chicago Mix,” a blend of caramel and cheese popcorn. It seemed like something he’d like, and it turned out he loved the stuff. Raved about it. I was getting reports from other family members that he had told them how much he loved the stuff.
I had to send him some more Chicago Mix, and at that point, I figured I should try some.
After a Friday afternoon workout at FFC, I stopped by Wells St. Popcorn on Lake Street and bought a medium-sized bag of Chicago Mix.
My will power is usually sufficient to protect me from too many sugary treats, but this stuff was just too good, too painfully seductive to resist. On that Friday evening, I was scheduled to go to a big dinner, but I couldn’t help slamming the sweet and savory corn into my apparently insatiable maw. The crisp sweetness of the caramel corn, the softer, cheesier finish of the cheese corn, the variations in texture and the savory combination of the two flavors was excellent. I stuffed myself on Chicago Mix and then had trouble finishing dinner.
Actually, this treat made me a little crazy. I’d have a mouthful of mostly caramel corn and think, “I really like the caramel corn best. Or do I? I better try more of the cheese corn…” And so on and so on.
I’m writing this post on Saturday morning. In two hours I have to judge an eight-hour bacon festival at UIC Pavilion. And I’m stuffing myself with Chicago Mix.