Buttering Up My Buns
Wanna see my web cam?
I'm having a creative block lately, most likely from going through that medical experiment last week. I've been warned that going through the depletion tests can bring on an onset of depression (it has). So since last week, I've been going through the motions of "faking it", something I've grown accustomed to doing.
I've been thinking about my crazy grandmother recently. My mom's mom is the polar opposite of my real mother. Republican, catholic, neurotic, and afraid of everything...including butter.
When she was 2 years old, she was playing under the kitchen table while my great grandmother was getting dinner ready. Her older sister was setting the table and put a 2lb stick of butter out for the rolls. My grandmother reached up, took it, and proceeded to eat the entire 2lb stick under the table (sort of like my old Labrador retriever...but that is another story). By the time my great grandmother noticed her daughter, she had eaten nearly the whole 2 lbs, with whatever she hadn't eaten having melted into her hands, smeared all over her face, through her hair, and all over her clothing. That was the last day she ever touched or even ate butter. As she grew older, and started cooking on her own, she would throw a frying pan out if someone let butter touch it. The smell of it cooking could make her gag. She lives in an apartment now and won't use the butter holder on the door of the refridgerator because she is afraid that someone put butter in there before her.
She raised my mother on a butter free diet. How many of you like butter free baked potatoes? Bleck! So my mother learned very quickly that she had a secret weapon that she could use against her mother when necessary. My mom would offer to bake a cake, and would use a recipe that required butter, or she would take my mother out to dinner at an Indian restaurant, where everything is fried in Ghee (a clarified butter). My mother the vegetarian actually ordered lobster once, just so she could dip the meat in melted butter in front of her mother.
Now I've never really had a need to use this weapon, but lately my grandmother has been going on ranting and raving about how things were so much better when "those queers kept quiet". I've been thinking...maybe it's time to mail a batch of cookies to old granny. Anyone got a good recipe?
