Mar 14 2008
Its Like Butta**
Growing up my parents didn’t often keep butter around the house, we were more olive oil people. On occasion we would eat it with artichokes or pancakes, but we weren’t big into buttering our bread and it was sacrilege to put butter on grandma’s rolls. A few years ago, as Phil and I sat down to our first Parisian hotel breakfast when our server brought out the normal assortment or preserves and butter. Normally I don’t touch the stuff, but I thought; when in Rome . . . or Paris in our case, and proceeded to slather my baguette with the rich, creamy substance.
I was hooked. Actually, I developed sort of a ‘problem’ that eventually led to a wider notch on my belt before I took the matter in hand, limiting my buttery baguettes to my birthday and when we have guests. It is a bit sad, because a guilty pleasure of this magnitude should be savored . . . alone. As it happens we have house guests in the form of my in-laws this weekend. Naturally I have decided to make the most of my buttery indulgence by making my own butter*.
