Popcorn Trauma Club Initiation

July 24, 2025

Once upon a time, a little more than 25 years ago, I decided to have a bonding moment with my then-seven-year-old daughter, Leia, through the mesmerizing culinary event of a Jiffy Pop popcorn. This was something we did on occasion as it was fun watching the flat silver disk mushroom up and become filled with a tasty snack. I had fond memories of it as a kid—watching my mom shaking the thin aluminum pan, observing the foil balloon up like a UFO and the . . . um . . . interesting aroma wafting through the air. What could possibly go wrong?

Armed with my familiar stovetop and a sense of nostalgia, I set the stage for our latest popcorn adventure. Leia, with her big brown eyes sparkling with excitement, watched as I discarded the cardboard topper and placed the pan on the burner. With my hand on hers we collectively started shaking the pan like a maraca. I could almost hear the popcorn kernels giggling in anticipation. But here’s where the plot thickens. Now, I really don’t know if the burner was set to ‘NASA launch’ but within moments, we had a full blown "Houston, we have a problem" episode. Instead of popping—the Jiffy Pop was more like EXPLODING! A plume of smoke billowed into the air, and the foil balloon - that had only inflated half-way - was turning jet black as more smoke and a 2 foot high flame was dancing out of the pan. Simultaneously, popcorn kernels in all different stages of maturity were shooting out of the flame-consumed pan, breaking through the now cremated aluminum balloon and becoming hot projectiles that here ricocheting off the exhaust fan, the walls and ceiling. Leia’s eyes widened and filled with a mix of awe and terror.

In a panic, I realized we were not just making popcorn; we were crafting a culinary horror show. I grabbed the handle of the pan, while the mini fireworks display continued, threw the blazing aluminum blob into the sink and quickly turned on the faucet. Leia was convinced we’d invited a popcorn demon into our home that had just tried to kill us and burn the house down. The whole ordeal left her traumatized to this day.

Fast forward 21 years. Leia is now a grown woman, navigating her own life and I have another seven-year-old daughter, Annabelle. On a grocery shopping trip with Annabelle, my attention was elsewhere when a little hand patted me on the back and asked “Momma, what is this?” I turned to find her hold the familiar shiny aluminum pan with the red and yellow paper-like topper. I responded “Oh my gosh! That’s a Jiffy Pop popcorn pan. I can’t believe they still make those things.” Having had her question answered and not being a big fan of popcorn in general, Annabelle started to put the pan back on the hook where it was hanging by in handle before she spotted it. I stopped her and said, “No, let’s buy it.” As a light-hearted joke, I thought it would be hilarious to have Annabelle gift a Jiffy Pop to her big sister, Leia.

Having been pre-warned that Leia was likely to hate it, Annabelle was prank-ready when the gag gift plan went into effect a few days later with Leia’s next visit. Upon receiving her ‘gift’ from her sister, her voice was a mix of fear and annoyance, “Yeah, nah. Good luck with that.” She said as she handed it back. Followed by a sarcastic “You’re funny” as she looked in my direction and witnessed me giggling. Leia was too cool to give us the satisfaction of thinking we rattled her. Other than a random sneer and a glaring look, the prank was seemingly ignored the rest of the time she was there. However, the anxiety was apparent with her final act before heading out to her own home. Like a proficient popcorn-safety officer she ended up taking the silently menacing popcorn kit outside the inferior barriers of the house and left it on the carport where it was mostly surrounded by concrete. I like to think it was an act of love.

Eventually, Annabelle brought the innocent-looking popcorn kit back inside. Flipping it in her hands in order to inspect all sides she asked “What IS wrong with this stuff?” I replied nonchalantly “Nothing, we just had an incident with one 20 years ago. Let’s cook it.” With Annabelle observing and showing just a mild curiosity, I set the Jiffy Pop on the burner. The heated kernels were soon popping away as I steadily shook the pan. Annabelle was intrigued when the bright silver top started to expand. All seemed like a normal Jiffy Pop experience until I noticed a familiar acrid scent filling the air. The pan began to smoke, and before I could even say “popcorn,” flames erupted like a mini volcano. Annabelle’s eyes widened in terror, and she bolted to the other side of the kitchen, just as Leia had done two decades earlier. “Mom! It’s on fire!” she screamed, her tiny voice echoing the words I had heard long ago. It was more than just a since of dès-vu, it felt like literal time travel - same kitchen, same event, different decade.

I quickly extinguished the flaming popcorn wreckage. I’m proud to say, I did it more calmly than the first time. Whether my lack of panic was from normally progressed maturity or the fact that it simply wasn’t my first rodeo with this type of mishap – I should include “veteran fighter of Jiffy Pop infernos” to my professional résumé. After the smoke cleared, I had two traumatized daughters—one from the original Jiffy Pop disaster and one freshly initiated into the popcorn trauma club.

With the Jiffy Pop legacy firmly established in our family lore, we all learned that some culinary adventures are best left unpopped. I wish I could report that flaming culinary pranks are off limits but I fully intend of gifting a 6-pack of Jiffy Pop ‘ready for stovetop popping’ pans to whichever daughter gets married first.