Today, Brian and I decided to have a date afternoon. He met me at my gym at noon, right when I finished coaching, and we headed over to the Carlsbad Flower Fields. I have always heard about the flower fields and how cool they were, but I was never convinced that it was something a grown-up like me should indulge in (come on, stop laughing, I am too grown-up!) until I saw a special about them on KPBS. Yes, when you are bored stiff and only have 10 working TV channels, you end up watching public television once in a while.
Anyway, the flower fields are absolutely stunning. I now understand why there was public uproar recently when it was proposed to uproot the fields and replace them with new condo and hotel developments. They are a part of Carlsbad’s unique identity in the midst of a rather suburban North County San Diego.
As soon as Brian and I entered the 50-acre park, I immediately sensed that we were nearing something magnificent. Something special. Something you only sense in amazing places.
I smelled Kettle Corn.
For those of you who know me, you of course know about my obsession with popcorn, and my preference for things that are sweet and that are salty. Kettle Corn is the ultimate amalgamation of the three.
I gave Brian the cutest, poutiest face I could muster, attempting to convince him to buy us some, but then we realized that the little stand that made their Kettle Corn “just like Grandpa” would only take cash, and we were clean out. Dang old-fashioned living, only taking cash! If only I had brought in my $3 from the car! Drat. So alas, I began walking amidst the now less interesting flowers, knowing that I was missing out on something simply amazing.
We managed not to get hit by the frequent tractor tours that would often surprise us from behind, and about 45 minutes into our walk, as we strolled along the dirt paths that led us through the plethora of colors, I noticed something gleaming in the sun. There it was, a little piece of heaven.
A lone piece of perfectly glazed Kettle Corn.
As I pulled away from Brian’s arm and dashed down to retrieve it, Brian suddenly realized what I was about to do, and he fervently tried to stop me. “Don’t you dare eat it!” he playfully exclaimed. “It has dirt all over it!”
“No it doesn’t,” I replied persuasively, secretly blowing off what little tractor dust lay on it.
And then I ate it.
It was glorious. The best ever. With a little dirt on it.
As he typically does when I do something very me-like, my husband simply hung his head and shook it with a look of awe, half out of embarrassment and half out of amusement at my extremely desperate and childlike action.
It’s okay, I do stuff like this all the time. I’m used to him doing that.
As soon as I ate the sweet and salty piece of goodness, I saw that there was a whole trail of Kettle Corn that some other flower field patron had left just for me! I did my best to retrieve more pieces, but Brian convincingly held me back. I gave it a good fight though, like a bucking bronco.
We laughed a lot this afternoon.
Anyway, once we made our way out of the fields and back home after a nice lunch at Karl Strauss (where I got to order gourmet Mac and Cheese for the first time ever…who says noodles and cheese isn’t classy?), I decided that, in order to avoid such a silly public display of desperation in the future, I need to learn how to make Kettle Corn for real.
So I did.
You can click here for the recipe. Just make sure you don’t eat any of the burnt pieces. They’re really gross.
So if you ever stop in Carlsbad, you should check out the flower fields. They are amazing. Oh yeah. And don’t forget to bring some cash with you. You’ll probably need it. For Kettle Corn. 
Kettle Corn!
The Carlsbad Flower Fields are sandwiched North/South between Orange County/San Diego and East/West between a luxury resort hotel/the ocean. Too perfect.
Colors. And tractor tours.
Tribute to America.
