Ask and you shall receive, they say. Ask whom? Well, for the past thirty some-odd years I’ve thought it was The Universe, Your Own God, or The Great Force behind all life. Turns out it’s not. It’s Marj, that’s whom. To think of what I’ve missed out on all these years.
You’d like Marj. She has a wicked sense of humor, wry and dry. And she’s the very best storyteller. I’ll be first in line the day her memoir hits the stands and don’t bother talking to me until I’m done with it. It’ll be a cover-to-cover read that one. Yes, you’d like her for sure. I’d introduce you, but now that I know she is the source of things most rare, most awesome and most coveted, I think I won’t.
You see back in June, I ended The Great Trade musing on my intent to make cultured butter but for lack of a churn. Only days later Marj and her husband trekked to Maine for a long awaited visit. Upon arrival, she handed me a stately butter churn, finer than any I’d ever seen or considered. Two bottles of wine and a butter churn. Set’s the bar pretty high, doesn’t it?
I perched the churn safely atop a cabinet and ogled it for a couple of weeks as we plowed through the stock of butter in the fridge. When finally warranted, I took the churn down, washed the jar, and oiled the gears. I set a bit of yogurt into cream and let it thicken overnight. Just like that, with a few cranks, a rich golden butter broke from the buttermilk.