Today is Day 17 of National Novel Writing Month, and I am up to 31,771 words. This is my latest chapter, one of the lighter-hearted ones. Enjoy.
Some foods I can take or leave, but then there are some concerning which I have little sense of moderation. One of those foods is butter.
Butter has always been a treat – as kids, we might have tasted butter 2 or 3 times a year, and those times were made special thereby. Sheer joy was when Mom or Grammy gave us lobster and a dish of drawn butter to dip it in. I remember visiting my Aunt Lydia and Uncle Norman. At that time, Lydia was baking her own bread – she may still be, at 93 – and every once in a while, I’d have a warm slice of homemade white bread, with butter melting over it, and a glass of homemade birch beer, or homemade root beer, or cold, cold milk that was still in a dairy cow out in the barn that morning. It was always wonderful.
Through my adulthood, I have mostly stayed away from butter – probably once every year or so, I’ll go on a butter binge – buy a pound of butter and eat toast, or eggs in butter, or bread and butter. I haven’t had Saltines and butter for years and years, but I used to finish a sleeve of Saltines with butter on every one.
And I never just put a thin layer on anything. I would plaster big chunks of soft butter on my bread, and then add peanut butter, or jelly, or nothing. I always left the butter out, so it would be spreadable. But if I hadn’t, that didn’t stop me – I put slabs of cold butter on English muffins, and bagels, and zucchini bread, apple bread, banana bread, French Toast, pancakes, all kinds of yummy, carb-laden foods that quickly became carb-laden, fat-laden foods.
I just came off one of these binges – that is what stopped my logging in its tracks. I now buy butter mixed with canola oil, as if that is much healthier. I also eat sandwich thins, instead of regular bread, which allows me to eat sandwiches with bread on both sides for the same carbs as open-faced. Of course, the trouble with those is that now I can toast them and put butter on each half.
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn better. But this time, I waited almost two years since the last butter-fest. Maybe spreading the time between incidents can make up for the sandwich thins. But no matter what happens, please don’t set butter in front of me. I haven’t yet resorted to eating it off my finger, but the night is young.