My mother loves butter more than I do,more than anyone. She pulls chunks offthe stick and eats it plain, explainingcream spun around into butter! Growing upwe ate turkey cutlets sauteed in lemonand butter, butter and cheese on green noodles,butter melting in small pools in the heartsof Yorkshire puddings, butter betterthan gravy staining white rice yellow,butter glazing corn in slipping squares,butter the lava in white volcanoesof hominy grits, butter softeningin a white bowl to be creamed with whitesugar, butter disappearing intowhipped sweet potatoes, with pineapple,butter melted and curdy to pourover pancakes, butter licked off the platewith warm Alaga syrup. When I picturethe good old days I am grinning greasywith my brother, having watched the tigerchase his tail and turn to butter. We areMumbo and Jumbo’s children despitehistorical revision, despiteour parent’s efforts, glowing from the insideout, one hundred megawatts of butter.
I’ll admit it.
I used 3 or 4 pounds (who knows … I lost count) of butter the last week. I’m glowing from the inside.
Maybe you are too.