Warning: This essay briefly discusses disordered eating. My very first online order of the pandemic, once I’d come around to the fact that restaurants were going to be off-limits for a good while, was a butter dish. I paid for expedited shipping. The thing couldn’t come fast enough. All of a sudden, I needed nothing more in my life than softened, room-temperature butter — butter as the cooking (eating, tasting) gods intended — multiple times a day. I needed it for morning toast and to melt in the pan when I made scrambled eggs. I needed it for the chunks of bread I’d tear off for afternoon snacks. A few times, I buttered a graham cracker.
buttered everything
buttered everything
buttered everything
Warning: This essay briefly discusses disordered eating. My very first online order of the pandemic, once I’d come around to the fact that restaurants were going to be off-limits for a good while, was a butter dish. I paid for expedited shipping. The thing couldn’t come fast enough. All of a sudden, I needed nothing more in my life than softened, room-temperature butter — butter as the cooking (eating, tasting) gods intended — multiple times a day. I needed it for morning toast and to melt in the pan when I made scrambled eggs. I needed it for the chunks of bread I’d tear off for afternoon snacks. A few times, I buttered a graham cracker.