Our butter dish winters on the kitchen island. Have I ever mentioned that?
In the warmer months it holds court in between the toaster and coffee maker on the countertop. As the cabinetry in our house runs along an exterior wall, though, it’s a little more sensitive to the temperature fluctuations.
Each year, there’s a morning where one of us dips the knife into the stick of butter to prep a piece of toast for a nice dollop of marmalade, only to meet resistance. And someone observes, “time to move the butter.” And so the butter dish is moved approximately four feet to reside in the middle of the kitchen island, where ambient temperatures are warm enough to keep the butter from total rigidity.
This morning, with a toasted English Muffin’s crannies crying out for a little dairy love, I reached with my knife into the butter dish and felt that familiar resistance. And commented that I didn’t even want to look at the thermometer outside the window.
And from the other room cam the reply, “oh, yeah. We need to move the butter.”
I haven’t done it yet. I want to give mother nature another day or two to double-check the calendar and recognize that she’s jumped the gun by about a month. It may be a small gesture, but feels like a surrender to winter that I’m just not ready for.
But there’s no denying: the time for the great butter migration is just around the corner.