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Quote by Asako Yuzuki

“The whipped butter had already started melting across the waffles' latticed brown surface, creating a golden trickling waterfall that pooled in their hollows. Rika bit into the dough, savoring how juicy and moist it had become with all the butter it had absorbed, with a pleasant saltiness.”

Quote by Asako Yuzuki

Book:Butter
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Butter

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Asako Yuzuki

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“She took a knifeful of the butter clinging to the silver paper, so soft it offered virtually no resistance, and dropped it into the holes in the potatoes' skins. It was absorbed mercilessly fast by the granules inside, which soon took on a yellow hue. Rika sprinkled on a few drops of soy sauce, then pressed her hands together. 'Itadakimasu,' she said, and tucked in to the potatoes with a fork. The hot potatoes engorged with butter crumbled apart in her mouth and the steam rose up to the back of her throat. Inside her mouth, the mixture transformed into a smooth-textured cream, heavy and rich, which spread out hotly across her tongue. The Sado was relatively light in its taste, but had the same warmth and body as the other dairy products she'd sampled in Niigata. The soy sauce drew out the sweetness and texture of the potatoes, and the hand with which Rika held her fork moved incessantly. The next thing she knew, the two potatoes had disappeared, along with almost all of the butter. She lay down, a delicious sated feeling in her stomach. She had managed to soothe herself, and of that she felt proud.”

PotatoesJapaneseButterSelf Satisfaction
Book:Butter
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“She melted the butter in the pan. She warmed the egg yolks by immersing them in a bowl of hot water and mixing them with vinegar, then pouring in the shining golden butter little by little. She moved the whisk ceaselessly, making the contents of the bowl whirl round and round. Having observed Chizu's troubles up close, and learned how to avoid them, she succeeded in producing the fine egg-colored foam relatively quickly. Her whole hand, from the wrist down, was dancing on a waltz. The tigers in the book, whose desires had kept them spinning round and round until they transformed into butter, had ended up in the stomachs of Little Babaji's family. Even after their deaths, Kajii's victims continued to be exposed to and consumed by the curious gaze of the general public. Rika had stopped believing that any blame lay with the victims themselves. Being sucked into the vortex of Kajii's ominous power, like she herself had been, was something that could happen to anybody. Thinking this, she went on single-mindedly whisking the butter. Through her adventures with the quatre-quarts on Valentine's Day, she'd learned that waiting on the far side of all of this seemingly endless whisking was not stasis or evaporation, but emulsification. If she couldn't tear her eyes away from Kajii, if she couldn't stop herself from spinning round and round, then maybe all that was left to do was to grip on to Kajii with all her might, so as to ensure she wasn't shaken off. 'Done!' Rika said to herself and lifted up the whisk. The sauce of warm, bright yellow that came dripping off the whisk was smooth as cashmere.”

ManipulateVictimsButterBook TitleRound And RoundLured In
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“She took the butter from its box and opened up its foil wrapper. It was hard and cold. She didn't want to create more washing-up than necessary and she still hadn't located a chopping board, so she sliced it on top of the paper and placed it on the scale. There was a tiny fragment left over on the knife, which she raised to her mouth. The lack of salt meant it coasted across her tongue like a placid midwinter wave, leaving her with an impression of silkiness and concentrated fat.”

TasteButterBook Title
Book:Butter
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“She floated unsteadily over to the dairy section, and found her eyes immediately directed to the small packet with its crisp navy logo exerting enough power to eclipse all the other products around it. To think that a regular supermarket such as this one would stock Échiré butter! Checking the price, she saw it was less than a thousand yen. Not just that, either, but there was a whole assortment of different kinds of butter filling the display: cultured, aged, salted, unsalted... Until just a few months ago, it was difficult to find. Things changed at such speed. For a while, Rika stood still, bathing in the white light of the dairy section.”

ButterBook TitleAvailable Now
Book:Butter
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“Ginataang mais butter mochi is my newest addition. I came up with them this morning to fulfill a request for a gluten-free seasonal treat, and honestly, they might be my new favorite." I hadn't expected much when I threw together what ingredients I had to fulfill my friend Valerie Thompson's request, but the results blew me away. The dense, chewy texture paired with the unique flavor combination of corn and coconut was out of this world. I had my aunt, grandmother, and godmothers test my creation that morning at breakfast and all of them bestowed upon it the highest honor an Asian person can give a dessert: "It's not too sweet!”

CornFilipinoButterPastry ChefRice PuddingMochiCoconut Milk
Book:Guilt and Ginataan
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“Together, we construct the sandwiches, using a blend of muenster, because it was what her mother favored, and provolone, because Delilah thinks it adds a deeper flavor--- and liberally buttering the bread because, Delilah informs me, it's all about the butter. "Now," she says, laying two sandwiches on the hot pan. "Here is where you learn that cooking involves all the senses. Taste, yes. But also sound. Listen. The butter is sizzling. No sound means it's not cooking the right way. The pan is either too low or too hot." We listen to the sizzle. "Sight," she says. "We need to see that beautiful butter hopping and bubbling around the edges of the pan." Dutifully, I watch. How can I not? She is in total command. "Smell." She wafts her hand over the pan, letting the warm scent of browning butter and bread wash over us. "This is more important when you're adding herbs and spices. Does the dish smell as it should? It's something you learn on the way. Flip the sandwiches." I take the spatula from her and do as asked. The bread is perfectly browned. "Feeling. You have to feel how the food is behaving. The texture of it. Now, with grilled cheese, you don't want to cook it too fast, or the cheese won't melt. Hear how the sound has dimmed?" I nod. "We need to add more butter; turn the heat down just a bit." She walks me through the entire process, teaching me to control the heat, baby the sandwiches to get them how I want. All the time our shoulders are brushing, our moves in coordination for a common goal. A sense of calm spreads over me. I'm not thinking about work or the outside world. I'm not angry or empty. I'm filled up. I'm here, with her. We get the sandwiches on plates, and she hands me a knife. "The best part. Cutting it open." Her brow wings up in warning. "Only cut on the diagonal. Down the middle is a sin against grilled cheese." "Please," I say, with feeling. "As if I'd sink so low." I make the first cut and am rewarded with a fine crunch of sound, followed by the ooze of gooey cheese. Perfection. "Taste. Take a bite," Delilah urges with childlike excitement. I take a bite. "Close your eyes," she says. "Tell me what you think when you taste it." You. Me. Delilah wearing braces, her thick hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that highlights the roundness of her face. Her gold eyes glaring at me from opposite her mother's kitchen table. Home. Safety.”

CookingSensesButterChildhood MemoryKitchen RomanceGrilled Cheese Sandwiches
Book:Dear Enemy
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“We go on and on about wild berries versus cultivated ones, about what constitutes good white chocolate and if it matters what kind of butter you use. According to Dolores, butter with low moisture and high butterfat makes all the difference. She suggests Amish block butter or something called Plugrá, a bastardization of the French phrase plus gras, meaning "more fat." Only the French, I think, would add fat to their butter. I can't believe I care about butter. Before cooking class I wouldn't have given a tinker's dam, yet here I am wondering whether I can sneak over to Whole Foods to buy some for tonight. Dolores says it's fantastic on French bread, with a good Pinot Noir. "Ooh," I hiss, licking my lip. Then the awful truth hits me. I have become a foodie!”

ConversationFood For ThoughtButterFoodie
Book:Sweet Love
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“She was clad in a tea-colored dress and white apron, and on her head was an enormous buttercup worn like a kerchief, two of the petals pinned together beneath her hair. Her face was very red, very shiny and very plump. She looked, I thought, a little like a lost doll, though not one mortal children would enjoy playing with; her eyes were the usual all black, and she appeared to be a type of faun, with large and intimidatingly sharp black horns that curved backwards out of her head, and legs that ended in hairy hooves. "A butter faerie," Niamh said. "The queen had several in her service--- this one, I am told, had the queen's particular affections due to the quality of her product." "Fascinating," I said, wishing I had time to make a sketch. My encyclopaedia's entry on butter faeries had been sorely lacking in detail. "I have never encountered one before." "They're quite rare," Niamh said. "A good thing, I've always thought. They are peevish, half-mad little things, particularly if you remove them from their creameries." "I did not know they were found in Ireland," I said. "Most of the tales of butter faeries are from Somerset, are they not?" "Ah!" Niamh said, her face alight with scholarly enthusiasm. "Indeed they are. But once upon a time, as you know, Where the Trees Have Eyes had several doors leading to British faerie realms. One of these, I'm told, led to a pretty corner of Somerset. I theorize that the creatures used to go to and fro before the door collapsed, trapping several of them in this realm.”

FaerieButterFaunSomerset
Book:Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales
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