Home » in the kitchen » so, we knew it was going to happen: the Great Butter Confession

so, we knew it was going to happen: the Great Butter Confession

I mean, really- how long can happily ever after go on?

It’s been two months of absolute married bliss- something had to give. Something *always* gives.

Well.

Something gave.

“Thank you for not dousing this broccoli in butter, love.” My husband was collecting a forest of greenery from the pan while I sat on the opposite side of our little table in an apologetic attitude over the *lack* of butter on the broccoli.  “You know, I just don’t really like the taste of butter.”

The world stopped.

What?

You don’t what?

You don’t like the taste of What?

Of Butter?

Youdon’tlikethetasteofbutter?

I said it really fast inside my head, frantically trying to discern his joke- but he was contentedly munching away on his vegetables, like a decent person and ordinary Christian, there wasn’t a trace of cruel humor or bitter irony in his tone.

He wasn’t joking.

My entire life flashed before my eyes. Late night snacks of butter-drenched popcorn; warm, fluffy biscuits drenched in butter; oatmeal with brown sugar, drenched in butter; baked potatoes, elegantly drenched in butter; my mother and I convinced that starches were created for the sole purpose of carrying butter from the plate to our mouths. I Love Butter, it has been such a part of my life, up until now.

I could hear my cooking muse, her usually calm and light-hearted voice now desperately crying out-

“But- BUTTER IS A SAUCE!!”

It was all I could think to say; Julia is right. I believe in this. Butter *is* a sauce.

It is.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, I mean, come on- this is the same guy who in earlier posts declared that he disliked bacon AND cheese. I should have seen The Great Butter Confession coming, but I didn’t. It took the wind right out of me.

Now how do we live? The one my soul loves uses olive oil to fry his eggs.

I’m going to tell him that every time someone says that they don’t like butter, another French gourmet dies.

Maybe then he’ll keep his anarchist comments to himself.

Oh my.

The truth is that I love the boy too much to care for very long about most things, even things like Butter. I don’t know how or why, but I calmly served myself some vibrant, green, butter-less broccoli and enjoyed every heart-healthy bite, the now familiar feeling of happily-ever-after sneaking back over me as he smiled.

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"The only time to eat diet food is while you're waiting for the steak to cook." Julia Child

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