Nacho Popcorn — The Corn That Stays Simple When Nothing Else Can

Erik came over Saturday. We sat in the kitchen. He cried. Erik does not cry. Erik did not cry at Pappa's funeral. Erik did not cry when his wife died in 2018. Erik cried at Mamma's kitchen table because Mamma was not in it. I made him coffee. He cried for ten minutes. Then he stopped. Then we sat for another twenty minutes without talking. Then he left. The visit was perfect. The visit broke us both open in the right way. Erik called Sunday. He said he was thinking about Lars. He said he had not thought about Lars in a long time, not really thought about him, not the actual Lars, the twenty-year-old in 1979. Mamma's death has unlocked the older grief. Both of them at once. We sat on the phone for forty minutes mostly silent. Erik said: "It is too quiet over here, Linda." I said: "It is too quiet over here, too." We hung up. We were both alone in our too-quiet houses. The aloneness was, somehow, shared. Karin came from Stockholm for the funeral. She slept in the basement. She drank coffee at Mamma's table (Mamma's table is now in my dining room — Erik moved it over when we cleaned out the Fifth Street house; the Kenwood dining room now has both my dining table and Mamma's, pushed together to make a single longer table). Karin said: "It is so strange that the kitchen still smells like her." I said: "I have been baking her bread." Karin understood. Sophie had her baby. A girl. They named her Ingrid, after Mamma. I drove to Minneapolis. I held her — she was tiny, with the same dark hair Sophie had at birth, with eyes that tracked the room with serious attention. I said in Swedish: Välkommen, lilla Ingrid. Welcome, little Ingrid. I cried. Mamma would have approved. Mamma did approve, in the months before she went, when Sophie told her the plan. The name is the bridge. I cooked Sweet corn and butter this week. Corn from the farmers' market in late August. Boiled five minutes. Eaten with butter and salt and nothing else. The simplest perfect meal. Thursday at the Damiano Center: I made an extra pot of pea soup, the way Mamma taught me — yellow split peas, ham hock, onion, the whole of Sunday afternoon dedicated to its slow simmer. Gerald said, "Variety. We approve." The regulars approved too. One older woman ate three bowls and asked if she could take some home. I sent her home with a quart in a glass jar. She is bringing the jar back next Thursday. We have an arrangement. I walked to the lake on Saturday. I stood at the spot where Paul and I used to walk — the bench at the end of the lakefront trail, the one with the brass plaque about a different Paul who died in 1972. I told my Paul about the week. About the kids. About the dog. About the soup. I do not feel foolish doing this. The lake is patient. The lake has, in some real sense, become my husband by proxy. I would not have predicted this in 1988. It has turned out to be true anyway. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. It is enough.

The sweet corn I made this week — five minutes in boiling water, butter, salt, nothing else — reminded me that corn does not need to explain itself. It just needs to be warm and in your hands. When Erik called and said it was too quiet, when I held little Ingrid and said her name in Swedish, when I stood at the lake and talked to Paul, the thing I kept coming back to was that the simplest things hold the most. This Nacho Popcorn is that same idea in a different form: corn, butter, a little heat, and nothing to prove. I make it on the nights when the house is too quiet and I need something to fill my hands while I sit at Mamma’s table.

Nacho Popcorn

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup popcorn kernels
• 3 tablespoons coconut oil or vegetable oil
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1/2 teaspoon cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/4 teaspoon onion powder
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
• 3/4 teaspoon fine salt, or to taste
• 2 tablespoons nutritional yeast or finely grated Parmesan (optional, for cheesy depth)

Instructions

1. Pop the corn. Heat the oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add three test kernels, cover, and wait until they pop. Once they do, add the remaining kernels in a single layer, cover, and shake the pot gently every 30 seconds. Cook until popping slows to about 2 seconds between pops, 4–5 minutes. Remove from heat immediately.
2. Mix the seasoning. While the corn pops, whisk together the chili powder, cumin, garlic powder, smoked paprika, onion powder, cayenne (if using), and salt in a small bowl. Set aside.
3. Butter and season. Transfer the popped corn to a large bowl. Drizzle the melted butter evenly over the top, tossing as you go so every kernel gets coated. Sprinkle the seasoning blend over the buttered popcorn and toss thoroughly.
4. Add cheesy finish (optional). If using nutritional yeast or Parmesan, sprinkle over the top and toss once more. Taste and adjust salt.
5. Serve warm. Serve immediately, straight from the bowl. It keeps in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 2 days, though it is best the night you make it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 160 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 290mg