This week at Mom’s house, I attempted to re-create a scene from my childhood – in the same house, on the same chair, with one of the same Ball-Mason jars from the mother’s stash in the cellar. The kind with tiny bubbles crystallized within the glass of the jar. Mother says these jars are valuable.
The cream of bygone days for butter-making came from one of the Holstein cows that Sam and Mabel Hoffer kept on their tiny farm down the road from us on Anchor Road. For this re-enactment, I buy whipping cream from Giant Foods up the road toward town.
Did I mention that my sister Jan and Mother are both skeptical that store-bought cream will yield real butter.
Janice says, “You’re probably wasting your time shaking that jar back and forth with cream from the store. Think about all of the additives and preservatives they put in.”
Mother doesn’t say much but looks skeptical. I’m out to prove them wrong.
I stop the shaking long enough to notice that curdles of cream are clinging to the jar’s insides. That’s all it takes.
First, sister Jan and then Mother get in on the action, now past the 12-minute mark.
Without a shadow of doubt, real honest-to-goodness butter lumps are forming.
And voilá . . .
Fifteen minutes later, more or less, we have two fat butter-balls!
Did you catch the steps?
- Pour cream into 2-quart jar.
- Shake until you rattle and roll.
- Remove the congealed mass from the jar. Add a pinch of salt.
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What scenes from your past have you tried to re-create?