With the first buttery and salty taste of my dad’s old snack came the rushing memory of my childhood and my old house with the clear blue pool and backyard that stretched for miles. This house was in the middle of the block surrounded by children and grandparents. This house was two stories and full of memories. Sitting here now in our new one story, this bite takes me back to my childhood days.

 I could feel the cold granite table in the kitchen that I would sit on while helping my dad stir the small yet hot popcorn kernels when we would make this treat together. This was our tradition, popcorn night.

Every Sunday came the excitement of getting to make this delicious snack. The day never seemed to end because of it. I would wait all day, consider skipping dinner so that I could eat even more. My mother, on the other hand, would never allow it. Dinner would only fill me with more anticipation and hunger, no matter how much I would eat. But soon after, we would get started.

 My mouth, watering with anticipation and excitement for the delicious treat yet to come. I can hear the loud popping of each kernel as we stir the machine slowly but consistently. Each going, “Pop…pop…pop.” The loud bursts of noise soon becomes faster as all the kernels begin to bake, and i feel like the joy of a dog getting a treat. My young self, impatiently waiting but still giggling with joy. I can smell the corn and butter as we slowly turn down the heat, allowing the popping to come to a slow end.

 As soon as the popping is over, my little body would soon rush over to grab the large, ice cold bowls where I could hold all of the savory goodness. The room buzzing with anticipation and warmth from the hot stove.

 We poured the popcorn in the bowl, sprinkle some salt over, and pour the butter in circles getting smaller and smaller. I could hear the sizzling of the hot butter on the pieces of popcorn, and I could practically taste the salt I sprinkle. We only add little amounts at a time, so in the end it’s a pyramid of delicious and perfect amounts of butter and salt for each handful.

It’s time for the taste test. All that we have been waiting for. I can imagine how I’d  grab the biggest handful that my little hands can hold, and shove it into my mouth as fast as I could. Immediately there would be a burst of flavor. Savory, salty and delicious tastes. The warmth adding to the taste and the overall enjoyment. The smell getting stronger as I bring the handfuls closer to my mouth, the smell of butter and popped kernels. Each bite to die for, each bite lifting my spirits even more. The utter, oozing onto my taste buds and making me crave even more.

 Now in a time of sports and adult-like living, I am not given opportunities to eat this as often. Every time I do, though, I will always remember each bursting bite of flavor and happiness. This tradition may not have lived on, but the memories have. I have recently showed my close friends this special treat, and enjoyed it with them too. With this dish not only comes satisfaction, but also the warm memories of a good day. 

by SARAH VALENZUELA