When I think of butter, I think of this meme:
Being out of butter is a crisis here. We tend to overbuy butter, just in case.
If Moo’s going to bake cookies, the butter has to soften. Moo is amenable to baking cookies if someone has set the butter out.
At our house, the toaster and the butter dish are always out.
Our children are toast fiends. If buttered toast and hot tea don’t cure their ills, at the least, they’re comforting.
I’ve lost many a butter dish to dogs and kids. People misuse the butter dish, setting out a fresh stick on or near the dish, but not in it. Then when I unwrap the butter it’s all soft and smooshy and I am forced to lick it from my fingers. Damn. Also, I am convinced I am the only person who recognizes the butter dish is dirty and so I am the only person who cleans it.
When Bubba and Moo were small, they were diagnosed with being too small, and so I heaped butter on their bread and overpoured their milk and they are no longer too small, and to this day they’re bread mongers and milk drunkards.
A friend of mine married into a family that practically worships rich food, and after many pitch-ins with them, year after year, the family not eating whatever tasty, nutritionally sane dish she brought, she took scalloped potatoes baked in twice the butter, twice the cream, and despite the fact that she baked them with festering resentment instead of love, the pan emptied quickly and she is forever asked to bring her scalloped potatoes, now a family favorite.
I kinda want those right now.
Butter kinda is everything.