I have a serious obsession with Garrett’s Popcorn.

Blame the convergence of two things: a comment from a friend, and a trend piece dropped in my inbox.

‘There is this place in Chicago,’ said my friend, ‘that has the best caramel corn.’ And the report said, ‘Long lines form outside Garrett’s Popcorn Shop for it’s ‘Mix’ of caramel and cheese popcorn.’

They had me at cheese.

On my next trip to Chicago, where, thank heavens, we have an office and a Culinary kitchen, I asked around for the nearest Garrett’s. There was one in every direction, so off I went.

There were lines, yes, but they weren’t terrible, and they gave me time to study the menu. Caramel crisp. Cheese. Buttered. Cashew. The famous ‘Mix.’ I bought three bags – one for my friend, the other two for pure gluttony.

It was worth every kernel.

Now, I can find my way there without directions (me, who can barely find my way home without my GPS). I have their Web site bookmarked. My friend has received caramel corn for everything from ‘just because’ to celebrating special occasions – mostly because she’s a great excuse for me to buy myself a bag on the side.

On my most recent visit to Chicago I picked up a bag for my friend, then caught the train for the airport – talking myself out of my own bag while I do a little weight watching. Halfway down the track I thought, ‘I should be taking some to the office.’ After all, several of our team had worked long hours to help get us ready for a big presentation. They had earned a thank you.

I juggled the merits of friend over office family until, as I checked in at the airport, one of the guards pointed at my Garrett’s bag and said, ‘You didn’t wait in a long line for that, did you? ‘Cause we have two of them here.’

Problem solved. Oh, and I went ahead and bought myself a bag. After all, what good is an obsession left unfed?