CHICAGO My earliest memory of Garrett Popcorn, one that I can still feel in my bones, is of feeling so cold I couldn’t think.
Back in the ancient past of the early 21st century, my dad had a conference in Chicago every December, and the whole family would tag along to spend the weekend shopping on the Magnificent Mile. Toward the midafternoon, laden with bags and tired from walking, one of us would inevitably catch the smell of freshly popped popcorn wafting out of the old Garrett Popcorn flagship location and force the rest to stop. Since the shop was so small, the line always spilled onto the sidewalk, requiring us to stand outside for 20 minutes or more as the wind howled at our ears and numbed our toes.
The cold only seemed to heighten the experience, since I was once inside, my senses quickly felt overwhelmed, as the heat livened my nose, and I inhaled the sweet aroma of caramel and cheese. Back in the hotel room, I’d scarf down handfuls of caramel and cheese popcorn, scattering the occasional kernel across the floor and under the bed in the process. (Tracking down half-eaten popcorn in random parts of a hotel room must be a real skill for downtown Chicago hotel cleaners.)
