I was lucky enough to be involved in many an artisan process since early childhood. Out of all the artisanal things mum practised in the kitchen, my favourite was the art of making butter. I wasn’t taught. I was probably brainwashed from watching mum go through her rituals every single day. Education via osmosis. It was like living in a churnery (is that a word?) where fresh cream was religiously skimmed off the top of boiled milk and collected in an earthen pot. When it started going sour, it was churned with a long wooden handled contraption by gently rolling between the palms of her hands (something that I do in my Kitchenaid stand mixer now). The luscious fluffy white butter would separate from the whey. And it is this butter that I would lap up with bread, flatbreads and everything in between. It was unsalted, cold, creamy and had a slight sour tang. I loved it.
500g unsalted butter