Butter and I are in a love/hate relationship. My interest in baking means having butter on hand is necessary and much more convenient for those times that I feel like baking at 11pm when everything is closed. I feel weird when there isn't more than 1/2 a cup of butter in my fridge. So many of the recipes that look interesting wind up having butter in it. It isn't really good for me; I'm fairly sure I have a couple of bricks of it around my belly and hips. There is an ever increasing chance I am shortening my life with every tray of lemon squares and each bundt cake, but I don't know how to quit it.
How the hell did Julia Child live so long after consuming the amount of butter she did?
Tonight Jill came over to hang out. We were supposed to go for a walk, but the weather started turning and I didn't really want wet feet. I had a few recipes on the "to make" pile: magic cookie bars, a berry yogurt cake and cottage cheese muffins. We baked the hell out of them. Varying degrees of goodness. We had tea and I worried for a little bit that I was becoming very, very old.
Why must baking be so detrimental to my health?
"Julie & Julia" opens in August. Apparently Meryl Streep is amazing as Julia Child; Amy Adams is a rated G version of Julie Powell (apparently Julie drops F-bombs like nobody's business). The melding of "Julie & Julia" and "My live in France" makes me more than curious. Can't wait.
I already know both of them were a bit more full of life at this age than me, so it's time to step it up a bit. Eat the butter without fear.
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