Now, this could just be an "old geezer, you kids get off my lawn!" thing. Or, maybe I'm just the only one with the perspective and wisdom to notice...?
I've been buttering my broccoli for years, mostly without incident. But in the last few years, my wife's new mantra seems to be, "I don't understand why my broccoli always has to be cold." And I tried to slough it off as just another spouse who wants dinner now, and doesn't appreciate all the effort and craft that goes into balancing the two minutes on the Foreman grill with the seven minutes in the steamer pot, then arranging it onto a plate, and rushing it onto the TV tray.
The hardest part seems to be getting everything onto a plate at exactly the same time, and shaking the appropriate blend of salt-and-monosodium-glutimate that passes for "spices" on to the various parts of the plate, in time to run the plates out to the sofa in time for the broccoli to forget it was just hot-as-balls mere seconds before I tried to get the butter to stop sticking on the knife in order to drizzle onto the veggies.
That seems to be the real mystery of this process, because no matter where the butter dish sits in the kitchen, whether next to the toaster, or within proximity to the uncomfortably-warm stove and oven, no matter when one lifts the lid on the butter dish...it's cold. Not just fresh-from-the-fridge cold, but, "Let it gooooo"/Frozen cold, as in, a brittle, hard clump of something that was just in the microwave before the last commercial break. So, mystified and flummoxed, you slip it back into the microwave, set it for :11, and start. And, it comes out seemingly unscathed, except for a little drizzle leaking out the bottom. So, you put it in for anotner :06, hit "start", and...what you get is almost an immediate, molton soup of oil with flecks of bright yellow on top.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am using the higher-priced spread. This is no artificlally-approximated science project designed to fool you into thinking this came from a real cow, nor is it some holistically-marketed glutin-battling soy stick pitched to vegans. It's butter. Pure, cow-y, dairy goodness.
With an attitude, apparently.
Go to use it, it freezes-up on you. Try to soften it, you got two choices: not...or liquid. And the difference between states of solid or seawater, is only about 1.5 seconds too long in the Kenmore. Woe to you if you miscalculate! So, great if you're at the movies...or, at the State Fair, at the Sculpture Contest. Kitchen, not so much.
And that's where I've been seeing this problem lately. And it's inconsistent enough to become quite maddening. You think it's juuuuust enough to be spreadable, but...it's all hiding in wait at the bottom of the stick on the dish, where you can't see it giggling in the hidden pocket, awaiting that one-second-too-much setting to totally change its' chemistry instantaneously. Too soon, and you have to pick it up with your fingers (ewww!) to flip it over to where your knife can reach it, and scrape off a bit, while you're wiping your other hand.
But something's wrong. Sure, you can get to it with a knife...but for some reason, not without the knife attaching itself to the still-cold part, and so you're dragging a whole frozen sticklet around your butter dish, sloshing goo off the side and onto the counter, while you can't seem to just deftly pull the knife out! AAUUGGHH! Feast or famine, you buttery bastard...!
Okay, fine. Do it the long way. SLICE a big pat off, stick your knife in, and use THAT to wipe your toast with the soft part. But, NOOOO! It takes too big a hunk off, you try and get it to the toast without dripping, and NOW for some reason, the knife slips off smoothly and trouble-free, just timed to dump itself right onto the countertop. And so, I am at the point where I am picking up a half-soft hunk of butter with my (freshly-wiped-clean, mind you!) fingers, just to HOLD the hard butter where I need to be to get ahold of that knife and spread what I can, smearing whatever else there is on the counter, on the knife handle, and maybe even a small percentage of it, onto the food.
And then set it down on the butter dish...because it's time to clean fingers, and everything else around you, one more time. And of course, once you've cleaned everything to the point you can walk away without the wife accusing you of being a slob...the butter's again assumed that stiff, bright-yellow state that looks glazed on your toast to remind you of how much of it is headed straight to your artery walls.
OH, and also...you think that broccoli's not gonna be cold by now? No worries - my wife will let me know if it is...
And it's not just the microwave and buttering process wreaking havoc. There is something about holding two buttered pieces of toast in your hand, which simply will not allow the both of them to co-exist in your palm, without one of them leaping for dear life.
And of course, you know which side they're going to land on - the more dust bunnies on the floor, the better.
More reliable than a cat.
It didn't used to be this way, I swear. Or at least, not as frequently, as insistent, or as frustrating. You didn't have to douse a knife with hot water to control your butter, and even if you did, it would control the butter. Now, I dunno what it is, global warming, maybe - I just think buter is out for revenge.
So, I guess what I'm saying is, sometimes nowadays you just can't butter...butter.