I have standards about things other people don’t think are worth having standards about. The coffee. The pans. The salt. Microwave popcorn was the leftover I had stopped noticing — the bag that beeps, the kernels that stay hard, the flavor that is never quite right. I would not serve that coffee. I would not cook in that pan. And yet the bag survived.
This is not a health lecture. Microwave popcorn is never quite right, and I already knew that. What I didn’t have was a tool that belonged next to the rest of the kitchen. Then I used a Popsmith. Five minutes on a stove I already own. Real corn, real oil, real salt. I dare you to go back.
What follows is the review I wish I’d read before I bought another box of bags: how it actually works, how it compares to the bag and the old crank pot, and the verdict. (Spoiler: I did not go back.)