Wednesday, September 23, 2009


After watching the movie, Julia & Julie, I realized that I’m not only in love with Meryl Streep, but I’m in love with butter.
Julia Child and her husband Paul both lived to be in their early nineties. I’d bet my arteries that they ate butter every day. So, there’s proof that butter can’t be all that bad.
And the taste?

Well, no oleo can compare.
In fact, I haven’t eaten margarine for at least two decades now. I don’t know if it’s just an urban legend, but when I heard the story that flies won’t land on margarine I was convinced that I would never put something in my mouth that a fly wouldn’t touch. I mean flies like poop for heaven’s sake!
Anyway, a few weeks ago, after I had seen Julia & Julie the first time, I had dinner with a friend and her husband at their house. I volunteered to bring the main course. I have a tradition that when the crops of local corn come in, I prepare a feast in honor of the harvest. But it’s more than just a corn dinner. I also make crab and shrimp. And the only thing I allow with the meal is French bread and beer. No salad, no side dish. No nothing. And the only thing we can drink is beer.(except kids of course). Not wine. Not soda. Not water.  Simple and delicious!
So, with bag of king crab legs, two dozen pink Key West shrimp in hand, and a dozen ears of corn, I arrived at my friend's house. I steamed the crab on their grill using a pan barely filled with water. I then put the shrimp into a sizzling pan filled with melted butter, oregano, lemon juice, garlic, and a splash of beer. My friend made some Pillsbury French bread, and truthfully, for being refrigerated dough, it’s damn good. I mean it's quick, easy, and the aroma alone that fills the air is worth ignoring that it’s a packaged food.
A half hour later, there we were, swirling the crab meat into melted butter and slurping it in our mouths, sinking our teeth into the buttery seasoned shrimp and the corn on the cob slathered with butter, and then smearing our warm bread with butter, all topped it all off with icey cold Modelo beer.
And then my friend’s teenage daughter had an astute observation (amazing that her frontal cortex was capable of that). “Everything tonight involves butter.”
My friend and I looked at each other, our mouths, chin, and cheeks shiny and greasy with melted butter, and burst out laughing. She was absolutely right. It was as if everything we ate tonight was just a prop to put butter on.
So, next year, I’m not going to call my dinner a corn-fest, but BUTTER-FEST.

And hell! Why wait till next year?
I can have a BUTTER-FEST all year long!

And then I got to thinking. I'm a writer. One day I will be published. And I eat butter.

My life? Simply buttah!

Always, Em-Musing

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