I remember being at a family ‘do’ about 18 years ago and my nan declaring at the buffet table ‘I can’t take butter’. I didn’t understand it, how can she not be able to eat butter?? Well now I know.
I’ve had to resort to the work of the devil that is REAL butter. Not your ‘utterly’ or ‘can’t believe’ or ‘buttery(ish)’ but the full-on-artery-cloggin’ straight from the cows udder (isn’t it?) butter.
I use dairy spreads because they do that; spread. I can’t be arsed with shaving off slithers from a solid block because I didn’t know I’d fancy a sandwich 2 hours earlier so didn’t get it out to defrost. Plus, Jeff uses butter and likes to leave memories of everything his knife has been in contact with all over the top of it.
But, call me a less than perfect domestic goddess, I forgot to add spread to my on-line shopping list.
Jeff points out I could pop over the shop and buy some – pah! It’s 40p dearer and I don’t think they take switch for £2.40 – if I get £10 out the cash machine I’ll blow the rest on the latest copy of The Lady magazine so, technically, it will cost me £10. Outrageous!
The result is I’ve discovered why my nan couldn’t ‘take butter’, when you get over 40 it gives you acid. Great. One more reminder of my ever ageing body parts.
Can you still buy marg?