NO BUTS
Butter is Not Always Better!
I have to make a stand somewhere, don’t I?
My wife is in the thrall of Big Butter. As thralldom goes, Big Butter is more benign than others. While the Potato Chip Cartel will demand that you eat another and another until your parched mouth can crunch no more, Big Butter is more subtle. A smidgen, a pat, just a coating will placate them. It’s nothing, or at least almost nothing. Only a smear, my dear.
But no, while Big Butter’s hold on my wife may appear to be delicate, what a casual glance misses is that it is insidious. Few foods escape their dollop of butter. Only a smear, yes, but that smear finds its way onto almost everything.
I have long suspected that my wife’s Italian grandmother planted the seeds. While Mangia, mangia! may have been much of the psychological conditioning my wife received, I think her grandmother also whispered burro, burro as she handed down her Italian cookery magic.
My protests have been light and ineffective. It is only a dab, after all. My wife does not slather butter on her cooking; she is an artist who paints, a master of her craft. Her hands know restraint, so I usually acquiesce. Mangia, mangia.
But lines must be drawn. I steadfastly refuse potato chips with a tuna sandwich, for example. My…
