On the first full day of the involuntary, restless idleness imposed on me by our democracy's latest embarrassing seizure I've been casting about for a hobby of sorts. Something to occupy my time during what promises to be a long period of exceptionally deep hibernation in DC. I spent the morning at it. Should I spend the time reading? (yes, but I can only do that so long) Making lists of the things I should have been doing in the normal course of domestic business? (maybe) Amusing the cats? (no) Then it hit me! I've had a hobby all along! I like to blog! And I haven't done it in a while, distracted as I am by life's assorted demands and periods of bliss.
The French - While the French are understandably put off to be upstaged by clueless Americans, they put butter in the temple of gastronomic delights. Julia Child herself - not French but a pretty damn good French chef nonetheless - adored it. So those French will probably go to great lengths to preserve Mount Buttermore. Wheel it into a refrigerated truck, drive it to Newark, throw it on a boat with a big fridge, and slip it into the Louvre.
Mrs. Butterworth - Mrs. Butterworth, that morning confection pre-loaded with oleo, has a persistent, unquenchable need for butter. Her very name belies it. Her marketing strategic depends on it. Millions of children would be heartbroken without the cloying additive. And she seems nice enough, so take that butter statue and donate it to Mrs. B. BTW, standing there with her arms folded behind her back she looks like you BETTER give her that butter!
The French have a long, storied history with butter are furious and word has it that they are considering a similar display built entirely of foie gras. (For those of you new to this blog, that's the word in my head). Sorry President Macron - I can live without foie gras, but I won't last a day without butter.
The stated purpose of the Pennsylvania sculpture is to encourage admirers to support the state's dairy industry, which I hadn't heard was in need of extra help. Attendees observed people supporting the local dairy industry in the most personal way - by licking the idols. (My head talking again) And as long as the Pennsylvania Dutch remain in their home state I predict a healthy, growing market for butter in all its forms. (That could actually be true)
The locals better lick while the lickin's good. Once the show closes its doors the monument will be carted off to a local farm "where it will be converted into renewable energy in the farm's methane digester." An ignoble end indeed. Surely the superhero, whatever's left of him, will metabolize his form and use the burst of protein to put a stop to it.
Assuming a joint of protein alone won't save the tasty crew, what other remedies might exist?
Let Them Eat Pancakes
Volunteer Fire Departments - I grew up in Pennsylvania, so I know that the place is loaded with volunteer fire departments. Every town has one - mine is shown to the right. They don't float stock or bonds, so they resort to other methods to raise money for fire trucks. Pancake breakfasts! So these people have a phenomenal demand for butter. Chop up the boys in the statue and divvy them out across the state next Saturday!
Loaded With Butter (Trust Me)
Don't Deny Her
UPI reports that the 103rd annual Pennsylvania Farm Show rolled out a half ton of butter and, not to be outdone by those who prefer to do temporary sculptures in ice, rendered a delicious butter testament to several of the state's beloved figures: a soldier, doctor, firefighter and football player. All of the figures held tall glasses of milk and to put an exclamation mark on this greasy display all sported capes to signify their induction into the Pennsylvania pantheon of agricultural superheroes.
