My Dearest Butter,
‘Tis been thirteen darknesses less a fortnight since I’ve last tasted of your sweetness. If ‘twas not for our distance I fear I would have consumed thee wholly by now. I crave thee, sweet churned butter. I crave thy salt on mine lips and thine oil on mine fingers. I dream of suckling them clean to not waste a single taste of thee. My beloved butter, how does thee make my cookies so sweet? My cakes so light? My bread so flavored? What wouldeth life be without thine luxury? For how art I to live in a butterless existence? I shan’t want to think of such a life. For a life without thee, my darling butter, ‘tis no life at all.
“Forever thine, forever mine, forever ours.”
(Inspired by Love Letters of Great Men Vol. I and Carrie Bradshaw)
I love butter. I may even love butter more than bread. If one more person asks me if I’d like some bread with my butter I’m going to poke them with my butter knife and grease up their stupid short sleeved oxford. Yes I would like some bread with my butter. I thought I made that clear when I put a piece of bread on a stick of butter and commenced eating it.
I try to be healthy but there are just some things that I can’t be asked to sacrifice. One of my good friends is one of those paleo fanatics, so when she showed me the Whole 30 Challenge I agreed to think about it. During the five days of my 30 day challenge I discovered something so dark, so evil, so sacrilegious that I had to quit on the spot (really I quit the next day due to sugar withdrawal (not kidding) but go with me for the sake of drama.)
I’m talking about ghee, friends.
Never heard of it? GOOD.
Ghee is one of the three things you’re actually allowed to eat on the Whole 30. It’s supposed to be a butter substitute. This could not be further from the truth. I decided to try the Voldemort of the food pyramid on an artichoke that I had so lovingly prepared for the one meal I got to look at that day. The way ghee is concocted is very simple. You put a stick of butter in a sauce pan and cook it down until all the creamy perfection cooks off and all you’re left with is liquid sadness. When I tasted this atrocity I began to weep and could not stop until the 30 days were up. They almost called Noah to build another ark. Seriously, it was that bad. Look it up.
Having tasted that-which-must-not-be-named I’ve found a new adoration for what was already so dear to my heart. It must be so stressful to be such a palate-pleasing masterpiece of flavor and texture. I just want to say thank you. Thank you butter, for always being there for my bread, my sauce, and even my frosting. And thank you for being so transformative that you freeze and melt like an absolute dream with little to no effort and produce grand, unforgettable results.