America's new, true enemy By tmoertel in Culture Thu Oct 11, 2001 at 10:16:29 AM EST Tags: Humour (all tags)
	This is dangerous business, I thought, watching the man catch his breath. I had worked my way through the gathering crowd and could see everything. The day was hot, yet he wore a full-length blacksmith's apron over thick denim pants and an equally thick canvas shirt. Heavy leather gauntlets reached nearly to his elbows, and even his neck was protected by a kerchief. Until he reached up, I hadn't noticed that his helmet, resting on a mat of caked, sweaty hair, incorporated a full-length, see-through heat shield. With obvious resolve, he pulled the shield down, covering his face, and stepped toward a thick, cast-iron crucible the size of a washing machine. The crucible was mounted on a platform that obscured my view, but when the man stepped on a nearby foot-switch while throwing a pitcher of thick fluid into the iron vessel, I could hear what was hidden within. The deep, rolling roar of furnaces rose unmistakably. As members of the crowed exchanged nervous glances and blue smoke fumed from the crucible, the thought came again: This is dangerous business. But I was beyond caring. I had paid my dues, I had waited my turn, and now I wanted what was mine. And as the man pitched a cupful of tiny pellets into the crucible's smoldering depths, I knew that I would get it. For only seconds later I heard the telltale popping that could mean only one thing: My Kettle Korn was on its way!

ADVERTISEMENT Sponsor: rusty This space intentionally left blank ...because it's waiting for your ad. So why are you still reading this? Come on, get going. Read the story, and then get an ad. Alright stop it. I'm not going to say anything else. Now you're just being silly. STOP LOOKING AT ME! I'm done! comments (24) active | buy ad ADVERTISEMENT I was first informed of kettle corn a few years ago by my parents, who had reported to me about an amazing CrackerJack-like confection that had been prepared before their eyes by a "cowboy" at the local agricultural fair. With nothing more than a leg-sized wooden spoon and a massive copper pot, they told me, he prepared batch after batch of the magical stuff, selling all he could make on the spot. They went on and on about it, surmising about how the sugar must flash caramelize as the corn pops, waxing on the perfect balance of salty and sweet, and even going so far as to confess that they had meant to give me a large bag of it as a gift. The bag had indeed been purchased, but owing to a tragic driving accident -- something along the lines of "we got hungry on the way home" -- it never reached my hands. So it was only recently that I witnessed the kettle corn experience firsthand. Basically, a guy sets up a booth at a fair or town festival, fills it with two giant kettles (one for popping and one for holding the finished product), places a portable blast furnace under the popping kettle, and finally hangs up a sign saying "Kettle Korn" or "Copper Kettle Corn" or "Cowboy Kettle Corn Kernels O' Gold" or something of equivalent marketing brilliance. Then he rakes in money as fast as people can throw it at him. Seriously. For those of you who have experienced kettle corn firsthand, you know what I'm talking about. For those who haven't, here's the quick course: This stuff is tasty. The act of making it is simultaneously dangerous, bizarre, and impressive. The act draws crowds. Hungry crowds. By the time a batch is finished, people are already lined up to buy it. They buy it. All. Before you can get any. You curse them -- and get in line for the next batch. Last Friday, for instance, I was at an apple harvest festival in Pennsylvania. It's a big event for the community and draws in a few hundred craftspeople, performers, and food vendors, all of who set up shop for the weekend. This year, guess who showed up? That's right, a kettle-corn guy. As I waited in line to get my kettle corn at 3:30 in the afternoon, I studied the flow of his business. He sold bags of corn non-stop, on average one $4 bag every twenty seconds. That's $12 per minute or -- and here's where it gets scary -- over $700 per hour! Now, granted, his wife was helping (she sold the corn while he made it) which halves the profit, but that's still an insanely large amount of money. Even when I factor in the off season and non-peak hours, Mr. K. Corn's success certainly puts my years of engineering studies and hard-won software experience into new perspective. Why am I writing software, suffering the fickle demands of Fortune-500 clients, when I could be a high-society Kettle Corn Man, rubbing shoulders with the elite of the booth-based food service world? Of course, there are the risks. I could die in a freak caramel explosion, or, even worse, topple into the kettle. And success does have its price. Perhaps a disgruntled funnel-cake vendor would seek to rub me out. At the apple festival I overheard an envious pizza vendor making unkind remarks about the success of the k-corn vendor. As a K-Corn Man, I would doubtless face the same ill will. But I'm strong. I could take it. And what great victory doesn't require a struggle? K-corning on the side, I would be a man of independent means. No more would I be reliant upon clients for income. Why, I could k-corn during the summer months and code all through the off-season on my k-profits, working on whatever projects I wanted. Linus might turn down my patches today, but tomorrow, when I'm a K-Corn King, would he dare? Not a chance. By now, maybe you're thinking of getting in on the k-corn action, yourself. Any why not, right? What open source project couldn't use a reliable stream of funding? -- not to mention, an endless supply of piping hot k-corn to feed the coding troops? Yes, perhaps you've got k-corn in your eyes... Well, Bub, get in line. As a quick search on Google recently showed me, Kettle Corn is big business. It seems that everybody wants to cash in on America's new addiction. Google returns over 2000 hits for "kettle corn" and over 1500 for "kettle korn," most of which are kettle corn vendors. And, before you jump behind a giant kettle and fire the burners, my friend, you should know about the dark side of the k-corn world. K-corn is addictive, no doubt about it, and there are those who would exploit its addictive properties to line their pockets. Certainly, kettle corn is no crack, but until crack comes fresh from a kettle with a hot-n-crunchy, sweet-n-salty coating, kettle corn will make a fine substitute. So far, because k-corn has stayed mainly in rural areas, it has avoided the FDA's scrutiny. Unfettered by regulation, it has raced across America, addicting farm folk and craft-show attendees nationwide. Meanwhile, the kettle-corn underground has run wild. Made brazen by their unchecked success, many vendors have eschewed the more subtle addiction-marketing practices of Big Tobacco, instead boldly proclaiming their goal of world domination through addiction. Think I'm kidding? Perhaps you should check out www.kettlecornmachine.com. When was the last time you saw a Flash animation dedicated to "Spreading the addiction," complete with waterfalls of dollar signs, and the unmistakable cash-register ka-ching? What's worse, The Bulletin of Bend, Oregon is reporting that some vendors, much like tobacco companies that artificially raise their cigarettes' nicotine content, are spiking k-corn with a special "secret ingredient" that is designed to increase the already crack-like corn's addictive properties: A fair snack food that grows ever more popular is kettle korn. The popping is done in a large copper kettle, then tossed with a stream of sugar, a touch of salt and a secret ingredient that seems to be the root of addiction. When will the madness stop? How many farm hands and flea-market bargain hunters will have to suffer at the salty (and delightfully sweet) claws of this new menace before we wake up? Kettle Corn is not our friend! Kettle Corn is not our friend! Kettle Corn is not our friend! Perhaps I was wrong to be lured so willingly into the sweet, caramelly embrace of the big K.C. Perhaps the easy riches of the kettle-corn lifestyle come at a price too high for my conscience to pay. And perhaps America can't afford to loose another hunter or seamstress, truck driver or schoolteacher, veterinarian or tractor salesperson, to this new, true enemy. In the fight against Kettle Corn, we need every hand we can get. Forgive me, friends, for having been swayed by the salty-sweet kernels of doom. I promise, my next bag will be the last.

Poll

What do you think about kettle corn? Haven't tried it, don't want to. 15% Haven't tried it, want some. 52% It's crap. 2% It's pretty good. 4% It's great! 4% It's great, and it's addictive -- like crack, only crackier! 20% Votes: 69 Results | Other Polls

Related Links

Google www.kettle cornmachine.com The Bulletin of Bend, Oregon Also by tmoertel