buttering from crust to crust
my grandfather always made sure every inch of toast was covered in butter. i remember him clearly carving into freezing cold butter, two-handed, so the slice would drown like a puddle at the mouth of a cheap culvert.
he loved his dairy, and butter would be sliced thick like cheddar.
i had the same habit over the years, but perhaps for different reasons. obsessive compulsive disorder gets thrown around a lot, but i always made sure my bread was completely covered in butter before adding vegemite, or dipping it in soup.
i used to watch reality cooking shows with envy - the chefs swirling sauce across plates without a care for shape or symmetry.
that kind of abandon, like throwing an empty beer bottle yards ahead of you on a dark street, was completely alien to me.
it’s only been recently that i’ll wait around for the toast to spring from the toaster, grab it, burn my fingers and drop it on the bench, that i’ve started to understand the greater meaning.
it has never been about love for dairy. or ritual. it has always been about letting go.
for my grandfather, letting go was not caring about cholesterol. for me, letting go is abandoning control.