Eating corn on the cob smothered in butter during a Memorial Day '99 family BBQ Since we started dating, my boyfriend, Dan, has treated me to some fabulous dates. Just a few off the top of my head: A fabulous brunch at Iron Gate Restaurant located in DC’s Dupont Circle one chilly Sunday morning in winter 2021. A romantic dinner at Blue Duck Tavern in DC’s Foggy Bottom for Valentine’s Day 2021. A series of breakfast dates at Kanemitsu’s Bakery & Coffee Shop on the Hawaiian island of Molokai in October 2021. All these meals were lovely in their own ways, and they all had different price points. Yet, regardless of what delicious food Dan has bought me, I’ve ended up talking about the butter most of all at each of these restaurants. Oh yes, the butter. At Iron Gate, they served what they called “Amish” butter, and Dan (seeing how much I loved it) asked if we should get a little to-go container just for the additional butter I had requested throughout the meal. At Blue Duck Tavern, I posed the idea of creating a blog where I exclusively reviewed meals in the context of the butter that’s served with them. And at the Kanemitsu Bakery, I commented how well the butter went with the French toast and pancakes. In fact, it reminded me of McDonald’s butter (of all places) in how smooth and sweet it was. Each time I reflect on my love of butter, I know its roots run deep. There’s a reason I think everything’s better with butter. What I See as the Main Course: Butter One of my earliest memories is sitting at my family’s dinner table in Lynchburg, VA. I was 2 years old, and I was eating breaded butter. It was nothing special. Think of a slice of white bread buttered as a side to a meal. However, as a toddler, this was the main course. Naturally, I wanted to avoid the crust because who eats those? So, I would lift the bread to my mouth and start eating out of the middle. On top of this, I would only eat the areas of the bread with the maximum amount of butter, which ultimately resulted in me biting a growing circle into this slice of bread. My parents were completely bemused by this behavior. My mom would encourage me to eat the rest of the bread (including the crusts) to absolutely no avail. All I wanted was the butter, and this was the start of a lifelong love. What’s Kept Me Out of Jail: Butter I have another vivid memory from around that time about butter. My mom was (incorrectly) explaining what incarcerated people eat. She told me, “In jail, they only serve bread and water.” Naturally, my three-year-old self was horrified by the prospect of jail not because of what it was but because of what it lacked: butter. They would serve you bread without butter? I must never go there. Thank goodness I had that motivation. Who knows where I would’ve ended up today if not! What’s a Condiment: Not Butter On Memorial Day 1999, my family and I traveled to my grandparent’s house in St. Simon’s Island, GA for a barbecue. My mom’s family was there, and we enjoyed eating together at a big table in the backyard. One of the items served was corn on the cob with little pats of butter. At not even three years old, I took this event seriously. I’m sure other food was served (hotdogs and hamburgers most likely), but all I remember eating is corn on the cob. I sat dutifully rolling my corn back and forth on those little butter pats, and when I would run out of butter, I would request more. To me, butter was the main course. I couldn’t eat the corn without it. Eventually, I was eating equal parts corn and butter, and to this day, I love eating corn on the cob as long as it’s smothered in butter. What’s Worth Making Yourself: Not Butter What’s funny about all these stories is that I truly love butter to my core, but I have no interest in making it myself. After eating at the Blue Duck Tavern, Dan proposed that we try to make our own homemade butter, and I immediately cautioned him. I had been down that road before. When I was four, knowing how much I loved butter, my mom suggested the same thing. We went the preschool teacher route for this project. We got heavy whipping cream and baby food jars, and my mom engaged my older brother and me in shaking the jars until the inside resemble “butter.” Well, when we opened it up and my mom put it on a cracker, and let me tell you, the color and consistency were all wrong. I gagged. It was not my beloved butter. To this day, I leave butter-making to the professionals. Everything’s better with butter, but it’s not worth making your own.
