Today I made my first butter ever. I am absurdly proud of this little pat. I blended and rinsed and squeezed and rinsed.
And it tastes not so bad as I thought, after the smell of the ripened cream prepared me for the worst.
But it’s doughy white.
Like Ma in Little House in the Big Woods, I like everything on my table to be pretty, and white butter is not pretty. Unlike her, I am not prepared to scrub a carrot through a piece of tin poked with nail-holes, and then cook the carrot, and then strain the juice into the cream to color it. Come to think of it, that might be rather fun. I tried more modern methods and (surprisingly) they wouldn’t take. The butter remains stubbornly white.