I love French butter. We discovered it in Paris, naturally enough, and it’s perfect butter. Creamy and delicious with just the right touch of salt. We ate it on croissants at the little café around the corner from our apartment and on crusty baguettes from the boulangerie next to the laverie (laundromat). It was sheer paradis sur terre (heaven on Earth).
I’d never really appreciated butter of any kind before that trip to Paris because my mom bought margarine and that’s what I grew up on. My grandmother had butter at her house and I recall thinking it tasted…oily. And because the size of my butt has been an issue my entire adult life, using real butter has never even crossed my mind. I enjoyed it in Paris, though, and wished I could find it in the grocery store here at home. But I didn’t really look that hard because of Husband’s severe lactose intolerance. I try to keep the dairy products to a minimum here in our house.
All that said, Son had French butter at Christmastime and it was, as in Paris, paradis sur terre! He’d gotten it at Kroger, of all places, and when I spread it on my own version of croissants–the rolls I make every year at the holidays–I was immediately taken back to that little café on Rue du Commerce.
I debated buying it at my Kroger, but I didn’t because… well, because not doing little things for my own personal enjoyment has become my go-to choice for too long. Fast forward to May and my writing retreat with Liz. We did a hedonistic grocery trip when we got to Madison, buying a few things so we’d have nibbles in the house for breakfasts and for snacking and such. I grabbed a baguette and some French butter (Kroger really does carry it!) and introduced her to the unequaled joy. She indulged me and agreed it was quite tasty, but she’s always used real butter, so it wasn’t the treat to her that it is to me. I sent it home with her though because I didn’t think I should have it in the house.
Ever since we got back from retreat, I’ve been thinking about French butter and Paris and why I believe I don’t deserve little indulgences. Husband is always glad when I indulge in small pleasures for just me…why do I think I shouldn’t have them? So, in a moment of true self-indulgence, I ordered a special covered butter dish online, and when we went to the grocery store the other day, I bought French butter. I’m going to keep French butter in the house for me. Just for me. Because I’m sixty-seven years old and if I’m ever going to indulge in French butter, it should be now, right?
So, mes amies, what’s your indulgence? Do you do anything at all that is purely for your own pleasure?
Stay well, stay safe, and most of all, stay grateful!