I love butter. Yes, I do.

It has come to my attention recently that butter has virtually no nutrients.

(The fact that this knowledge came into my life at exactly the same time I suddenly began finding it very difficult to even get out of bed in the morning and began openly questioning the very meaning and value of life itself might possibly be related. I will have to get back to you on that.)

It is being said by some haters that butter is essentially empty calories.

This hurt all my feelings immeasurably, as my passion for butter is perhaps exceeded only by my love for family members, close friends, and my dog Pugsley.

In modern-day parlance, butter plays nicely with others—it excels at teamwork. Butter is self-effacing: it makes every other ingredient look, taste, and smell really, really good with no concern at all for personal self-promotion.

Come to think of it, butter is all about the empowerment of others: other ingredients, that is.

Butter is the Miss Congeniality of the cooking world. After all, I have never met a recipe that didn’t love butter.

I have tried, but there is simply no substitute to be found for the one-and-only, the magnificent, the Taj Mahal of all saturated fats: (drum roll)…dairy butter!

It’s good to know that the generations before me found their own reasons to love butter. After all, there is much wisdom to be found in collective human history.

On the other hand, one might do well to disregard certain aspects of the, er, “science” of butter appreciation from past generations.

Because it is the heart and soul of the matter that counts, not the details, right?

With that in mind, I leave you with this charming vintage sign reminding folks of the “health benefits” and the rich pleasures to be found in a pat (or pound) of beautiful butter:


Have a butterful Monday, everyone!


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