Buttering Up

Betty Botter bought some butter 
And she put it in her batter ---
But she found the batter bitter
So she bought some better butter
(Better than the bitter butter!)
And she put it in her batter
And the batter wasn't bitter.
So t'was better Betty Botter bought some better butter.

I made butter today. Kinda just for the heck of it. The ultimate goal was to obtain two tablespoons of buttermilk, because I have a recipe for home-made soft cheese I want to make for New Year's.

In true 90-second-Deb fashion, I quickly scanned the recipes, mostly to work out whether to use the regular beater on the KitchenAid mixer, or the whisk. It's the whisk.

I poured a liter of whipping cream into the bowl and slowly ramped the speed up to 10.

That's when I realized I should have done what the recipe said and used a towel to catch the splashes. Undaunted, I obtained said towel and watched the mixer do its thing.

And watched.

And watched.

Damn. I needed to read that recipe again to see how long this takes! Turns out, it takes ten full minutes of the KitchenAid on speed 10.

So I returned to my task and the mixer returned to its. Now, years ago, when I first got my own KitchenAid mixer, I nearly set it on fire the first day because I used it to knead bread - too large a recipe for too long. This is why I was concerned and re-read the recipe, because Hubby's mixer was getting just a teensy bit warm.

I needn't have worried - in just a few moments more the transition began, buttermilk pouring out of solution and pure butter (looking like scrambled eggs) floating on it. After that I poured of the precious buttermilk into a container - I got over a cup! - and then rinsed the butter and squeezed the rest of the buttermilk down the  drain as best I could.

Admiral, there be butter here! And buttermilk!

In a few quick minutes the cheese concoction was set to warming, the butter stored in the fridge, and tidying done.

Now that I'm sitting thinking about this, I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like in OLDEN times, making butter by hand! Oh sure, they had churners made in various sizes, which worked, I assume, to varying degrees of success! But OMG!!! The hours it must have taken! Unless they literally did tiny amounts every day! C'mon - ten minutes at maximum on a huge mixer = at least five hours backbreaking work!

Once again, I am happy to be a child of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, despite my penchant for learning to make butter, chop wood, spin yard, knit, and quilt! Oh, and home-can a lot of food!

The Coffeepot, the Teapot, the Life

 

This is an item few people under fifty years old will recognize. It is a coffee server. Similar to a teapot, it is used to hold and pour coffee when using one’s fine china, in this case, the Royal Doulton Paisley pattern.

One can make tea in the teapot, but to use this coffeepot, one must first make the coffee elsewhere, then pour it into the coffee server, and from thence to the table for pouring.

To those with a thoroughly modern sensibility, this is ridiculous. To fans of Downton Abbey and other British period dramas, less so.

I marvel at that old lifestyle, where kitchen staff had to carry heaping trays upstairs from the kitchens to the dining room. Keeping the food hot, serving it at just the correct time, up and down those stairs at least twenty times per footman… In order to get everything on time, hot, on plates for all the guests - and there were always guests! - it was like a finely choreographed dance. A well-practised, sumptuous ballet.

The closest we come to such fine skill today is getting the turkey dinner on the table. From a kitchen no more than four feet away, I struggle to get the turkey on the platter, with a serving fork; the gravy in the heated gravy boat; the cranberry on the table in its pretty dish with a spoon; vegetables in serving dishes with spoons; stuffing in a dish with a spoon; chilled wine in wine glasses; chilled water in water glasses; napkins folded artistically; a lovely tablecloth under all; my Royal Doulton Paisley proudly laid beautifully for the enjoyment of all.

The men in my life are blissfully oblivious to how complex the timing of all this is! My female friends nod their heads in appreciation. Getting all this ready at the same time is, if not a ballet, then a miracle!

It is a labour, to be sure. But goodness, the table is beautiful.

That image, of course, is not of a turkey dinner, but you get the idea…

I got married the first time many, many moons ago. So many moons, that I was expected to start a gift registry, not on Amazon (which didn’t exist then) but at The Bay, specifically in the China, Crystal, and Flatware department. Otherwise known as the Bridal department. Because in that ancient time, brides-to-be were EXPECTED to choose a china pattern, a crystal pattern, and a flatware pattern. I, in fact, had to practically beat my future mother-in-law off with a stick to prevent her insisting I select a SILVERWARE pattern as well! Yes, there were several familial discussions about that point!

And this wasn’t happening in Edwardian Britain, but here in Canada, in the latter half of the twentieth century!

The only part of that trousseau I have left is the Flatware: Oneida Frostfire, and thereby hangs a tale for another day.

In the long years after my divorce I struggled to make ends meet. But my beautiful Mother had begun, late in her life, to collect Royal Doulton Paisley for herself, and it is this pattern that I inherited and cherish.

There is a sad part to this story, concerning the teapot.

One year I had been bemoaning to my mother that I had no idea what to get her for Christmas, and she replied that I could always help her out with her china collection. She suggested the teapot in the course of that phone call. She called me back twenty minutes later vehemently exclaiming that I was NOT to buy it for her, as she had just looked up the price and nearly lost her dentures.

She went on about what a ridiculous price it was, how any other teapot would do just as well, and I ended up getting her an ordinary teapot with similar colors to her china, and she claimed she was satisfied with that.

But with 20/20 hindsight, I regret not just putting this lavish item on a credit card and gifting it to her. Her life was cut short by a terrible stroke. I wish she had had the pleasure of pouring tea for her guests from her teapot that matched her lovely china. Especially since, the moment I inherited her china, I set about filling in all the gaps of the service she had left me, and bought the teapot anyway. And all of that was still on the credit card.

My mom loved to entertain, and she set a beautiful table. She also had great decorating sense, which I didn’t inherit, and that brings me to the point of this ramble.

I want the kind of life that coffeepot / server implies.

I want a clean, orderly, well-appointed home where guests can expect to be comfortable and treated like visiting royalty. Where I can set my table with pride, and experience palpable relief from the rush and bother of everyday life when I look at the china, crystal, and flatware all set out beautifully. Where the food is delicious and served hot at the right time.

And where I can pour the coffee for my guests from the coffee server, and everything be, for one precious moment, elegant.