Class warfare

Inspired by the author of That's Nice, Cheeks, I'm posting an old food column of mine that outraged the advertising department in my newspaper. I was flummoxed. Sure, the ad people had the nice parking spots, but I was also trying to get a shot in against other day-siders who made my life miserable, the reporters. And I was just joking. The piece is from August 2001.

Civilization as I knew it was nearly blown apart by popcorn.

Who really thinks food is a force for good? Granted, in prehistoric times -- or so the scholars tell us -- hunger bred cooperation: Heroic hunters strode forth and slew the ill-starred woolly mammoth, hacked away manfully at its massive carcass, and dragged all they could carry home to the grateful clan.

But when, at the dawn of the 21st century, the great popcorn behemoth willingly spills its guts in the company cola room, life at the News-Leader grows nastier and more brutish.

Your trusty daily newspaper, sad to say, is riven by serious social divisions. In one corner, you have the prosperous day-siders, with their well-coiffed tresses, sleek suits, shiny shoes and assigned parking spaces. Then there are those of us who labor by night, too often clad in the ratty and the recycled, hungry at every turn, and likewise angry and snarling.

Yet the two classes aren't quite as divergent on Fridays: The so-called communal popper makes our upper class shed much of its thin veneer. When the less favored among us stagger in after a grueling, desperate search for a place to put our ancient and bedraggled vehicles, we see the unmistakable signs of the day-siders' animal frenzy: the greasy tracks, the sad shards of popcorn kernels, trailing here and yon across the hallowed newspaper's otherwise sanitary halls.

Night-siders trudge upstairs to the break room to see a popcorn desert, all kernels of civilization now wiped away. Grrrr.

I'll admit it -- I can be a professional malcontent. Every week, I sowed seeds of revolution among my peers with three simple words: "Out of popcorn." I buttered up my night-sider comrades with the cry of "Equal kernels for equal work."

"We need an act of snack subversion, uncivil disobedience." They were popping mad. I proposed sneaking in early with a large paper bag and, while no one was there to witness, looting all I could for the cause. But "while no one was there"? As if! -- those vultures circled constantly.

So, Plan B: espionage and exposé. I came in early for some subtle reconnaissance, insinuating myself into a gaggle of well-groomed women who circled the popcorn trough with crammed cornucopiae in hand. Pretending to study the contents of a soft-drink machine, I aimed my quivering ears outward, to learn "Who hogs the corn?"

But the only clear sound I picked up was a resolute munch, crunch, chomp. Then all of a sudden the gaggle flew the coup, casting scornful glances and a shower of crumbs. Dang. I had forgotten to dress for my part as agent provocateuse. But, lo, the plundered popper came into full view. And it wasn't quite empty. I gathered up one of the last paper cones and started scraping away at the faux-yellow remains.

I'd come, I'd seen, and I was ready to start snarfing. I'll just take this plunder back to share with my comrades --or not. Glorying in the spoils, I danced down to my desk with my trove of kernels. And then I looked up. Right there, staring at me with a bristling sense of betrayal, were the righteous have-nots of the night-side copy desk, extending the hand of solidarity, to share in the wealth.

To which I snarled, "Hey, you want to be able to type with that hand?"

****************

I wouldn't be surprised if the grand poobahs at the News-Leader had caught some whiff of the popcorn discontent. Suddenly, when night-siders trudged upstairs, popcorn was waiting there for us. On a few nights, a fresh batch appeared in the evening! What luxury!

The work place is all the more civil for it, although I miss those days of animal wrath, of seething hunger.

You really shouldn't need a recipe this week, for popcorn is at its most glorious without one -- a little salt, a little butter, or whatever the food companies put into the little microwave packages. But I'll give you something that's really more like candy than like popcorn.

I hope it appeases some of you; I know, alas, that one of my co-workers, Michelle, will be outraged by the marshmallows it contains. As y'all doubtless know, marshmallows contain gelatin, which is made of bones. Oh, well.

If you don't like the recipe below, you can easily find other ideas for popcorn, or just about any dish you can think of, at www.allrecipes.com. The site is divided into a lot of categories, and has several useful ways of searching. Many of the recipes have also been rated by readers.

The Popcorn Cake, by Linda K.

14 cups popped popcorn
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup peanuts
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup peanut butter (preferably natural)
5 cups miniature marshmallows

Spray with vegetable spray a 10-inch tube pan (preferably with a removable bottom) or other 12-cup.

In a very large bowl, combine popcorn, chocolate chips and peanuts and mix well. (If you don't have a very large bowl, your life will be a lot easier if you cut all the ingredients in half and mix up two batches in large bowls, then combine).

In a double boiler or in medium saucepan over low heat, melt butter (or do by halves, again).

Stir in peanut butter. Stir in marshmallows and continue
stirring until marshmallows melt and the mixture is smooth. Remove from the heat. Stir marshmallow mixture into popcorn mixture until well coated.

Press mixture into prepared pan. Allow to cool completely before removing from the pan; refrigerate to make firm and more easily cut into slices. Of course, you can always just grab big hunks by hand.