I’ve made butter exactly twice in my life and only once intentionally. The first time, my 3rd grade teacher poured some cream into baby food jars and told us to shake them. After what seems like hours and much whining about tired arms, we took off the lids and found solid yellow clumps floating in a milky liquid. How’d that happen? We combined all our clumps and spread them onto saltines. We quietly crunched away, our eyes wide in disbelief. We made butter. It was mind-blowing and I was absolutely delighted. The second time I made butter, I was in culinary school doing what I continue to do even to this day – too much at once. In the time it took me to walk to the cooler and back, the cream meant for a cake was beyond overwhipped. I was not delighted in the least.
STRESSCAKE 