We all know the routine. You somehow managed to feed yourself a decent meal at a decent time, but that was hours ago and now it’s dark and you’re watching something on Hulu and the gaping maw opens inside you and YOU ARE STARVING FOR SNACKS. Growing up, my macrobiotic uber-healthy hippie parents would turn to a bowl of granola and raisins, which they called “The Goddess,” based on some sort of idealized imagery of grains and honey and milk being offered as a divine offering to The Goddess etc etc etc.
As for myself, my late night snacks always leaned towards the darkest sides of stoner food: quesadillas, cracker dipped in cream cheese, during more desperate moments, cheese melted on a plate scraped off with my own fingernails. On a whim last winter, I bought my husband a gift: a Whirlypop, which is a stovetop popcorn popper.
YOU GUYS. Suddenly my late-night eating went from grease-laden plates full of regret and tomorrow morning’s diarrhea to an enormous bowl of HIGH FIBER AIR. My husband has always been like, “oh yeah popcorn, whatever” about this gift, but I would estimate that three forths of my winter evenings now involve me at the stove, turning the crank of the Whirlypop, obsessing over just the right timing so that the butter is coming out of the microwave at the exact same time as I’m pouring the popcorn into my enormous wooden salad bowl that I use exclusively for popcorn popping. It’s a major obsession, and the fact that it’s reasonable healthy (whole food! fiber! only as much oil and/or butter as I choose to add!) and dirt cheap (I buy it in bulk and it’s like a 35 cent snack) has totally changed my winter times.
I know, I know: we’ve totally written about popcorn before but seriously you guys: the fucking Whirlypop. It’s the best gift I ever bought for someone else, EVER.