Betty Botter bought some butter;
But she said “this butter’s bitter!
“If I put it in my batter
It would make my batter bitter.
So she bought a bit of butter
Better than the bitter butter.
And she put it in the batter,
But it made her batter worse.
Last night was Butter-Night. Dinner, nothing but artichokes and baguette. Each simply a delivery system for butter. Lots of butter.
Artichokes, our prehistoric vegetable, the focal point of the meal. Vaguely cactus-like, these drab, olive flower petals terminate at the tip, at the top with a sharp spike. Reminiscent of a claw, or if studied closely enough, a dinosaur’s mouth.
Four tiny bowls of melted butter, one apiece, dip the petal, scrape the tender meat free with your teeth. The diminutive bowl-size a distraction. A trick to convince ourselves that we aren’t each eating a stick of butter with dinner. The bowls must be refilled several times during the meal.
The baguette is more straight-forward. Slice, slather, consume. The salted butter provides the flavor. Nothing bitter, nothing could be better.