butter never sleeps

I grew up on butter. I was a child of butter. Butter on grits, butter on pancakes, butter on sweetcorn eaten on the cob oh my lord, butter with dill weed on lima beans, butter on plain white rice, butter with a bit of garlic on noodles, butter on toast there is no better morning smell in the entire world, butter and lemon on grilled catfish, butter (and I’m not making this up) with peanut butter on cheap-ass white bread yes even now as an adult I will buy a loaf of cheap-ass cottage bread just to slather two slices one with butter and one with peanut butter yes yes yes, butter on fresh-baked biscuits. If I believed in god the way I believe in butter I would be a priest.

I am not alone. “With enough butter,” said Julia Child (and that tall, cheery woman knew a thing or two about cooking), “anything is good.” Fernand Point, the daddy of modern French cuisine, said, “Donnez-moi du beurre, encore du beurre, toujours du beurre!” Give me butter, more butter, always butter!

But not, I thank you and like Cyrano again I thank you, not in a dumpster.

Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work