Black Jewel Popcorn Now With Less Hull! by Laurie Esposito Harley

We like popcorn. But not Orville's brand. We prefer Black Jewell popcorn that tout's less hull in the same fashion that Captain Crunch cereal claims to stay crunchy in milk. I like my Captain Crunch soggy. It's dangerous otherwise - leaving small cuts and perforations on the roof of one's mouth. I like my Captain Crunch soggy in the same way that I enjoy my popcorn mostly hull. Black Jewell opens up the kernels, so they don't get wasted, but the kernels are tiny little pieces that are mostly casing. Kind of like a flower. Partially blooming. Part bud. And it's not overpowered with butter flavor - which is always fake on popcorn anyway. Some brands - I won't name names - leave a thick film on the roof... of... your... mouth - hey! just like Captain Crunch!

We'd eat Black Jewell with Less Hull almost nightly. Jamie first acquired the brand from Santisi's, which used to be a Sparkle Market. In fact, it was the store from which my Dad had been unjustly fired. He still won't shop there. Jamie brought it home. He likes to buy strange and rare treats. It's good that I wasn't with him. As I’ve mentioned, I like the hull, and this brand advertises "Less Hull!" I would have dissuaded Jamie from ever buying it.

Black Jewell popcorn reminds me of Mom. Had she still been alive when we first tried it, I would have no doubt told her about it. Instead I was left telling the wind at the top of Churchill and letting my choked words drop to rest on the newly-grown grass. I'm sure Mom heard anyway.

Memories of Mom

When I was little, there was no such thing as microwave popcorn. But I remember when we got a brand new popping corn machine. It had a domed lid – transparent yellow – that doubled as the bowl. And the corn lay in the cooking device underneath. Metal arms spun slowly around, stirring the un-popped kernels. My sister and I would stand and watch, just waiting for that first kernel to explode. We’d guess which one we thought would pop first. We were allowed to stand and stare at this appliance, unlike the hulking microwave, which threatened to blind us if we stared too long into its dotted window. Then the action began. At first it was slow. This one, then that one… kernel after kernel. The popping sped up faster and faster into a tirade of sight, sound, and smell. I’ll never forget that feeling. Kids today are missing something. Put a flat bag in the microwave and take out a full one. You don’t get to actually witness the birth of popcorn anymore. It’s a sad state of events.

The whole family would gather around that yellow bowl of fluffy, buttery popcorn. We didn’t divvy up portions. We just all dug in. But there was one steadfast rule. Mom got all of the partially popped kernels. Not that she would have minded if one of us kids ate these little nuggets. We just didn’t care to. They went straight to Mom, who’d pop them in her mouth with the slightest smile and a quiet “Mmmm.” As my memory insists, Mom was that way about pork chop bones, too. After I was done with my chop, I’d hand it over to Mom, who would pick at it in the most delicate fashion. Even if I picked mine clean, she would always find more meat. It was almost as if this hidden or forgotten meat was tastier. I don’t care if there were three more pork chops sitting in the pan, Mom would pick the bones clean from each of our plates.

So like Mom, I’m the kernel queen. Initially, my own kids would pass their partially popped pieces on to me, but they’ve grown a bit adventurous after hearing the stories of Grandma’s love of popcorn hull. And now all three of us hunt each bag of popcorn, seeking out the tiniest, yummiest pieces of buttery popped corn.

Well, I’ve managed to dislodge that shard of popcorn from between my teeth, so... GOODNIGHT!