I've fallen down a deep, dark black hole and I'm not sure how to get out. Nor do I especially want to. This black hole has a name - butter.
That's right. I'm talking real, creamy, salty butter spread thick all by its lonesome on a nice hunk of bread. Butter. Oh how I love thee.
My first step down this black hole happened a few weeks ago when I was offered a sample of freshly churned butter. I thought to myself, "how does one sample butter?" And I looked on skeptically as the butter man spread butter as thick as the bread itself, and then handed it to me. Naturally, I ate it despite my skepticism. And it rocked my world.
Previously, I've seen butter as an additive. You cook with it, you bake with it, occasionally you put it on toast. And honestly, we usually use "I Can't Believe Its Not Butter" on our toast - or at least we did in the US. Butter alternatives here are slim. But this bite of butter forced to realize that I had completely undercut the value of butter. The flavor. The texture. The everything.
I ventured further into the black hole one night when Mr. Oil was working late and, on my own for dinner, I ended up eating half a baguette - with butter. For dinner. That's right. Now I find myself searching for every opportunity for that butter fix. I'm even forgoing cheese to eat more butter. Which is how you know this is serious.
At some point, I believe my waistline and/or arteries will rebel. Or maybe I will stumble on my next great obsession. But for now, I'm deep within the black hole of butter - and lovin' every minute of it.