Deep in my memory bank, I house a poem from my youth—a tongue-twister, actually—a tongue-twister about butter. Although the name of the book escapes me, the poem was about a girl recognizing the importance of good butter. How can something made solely of cream—and sometimes salt—add such depth of flavor to so many things both sweet and savory alike? It’s pretty amazing: I can see why a poem might be composed applauding its awesomeness. Even margarine—butter’s non-dairy competitor—is barely called margarine anymore: it’s called buttery spread or buttery sticks. Because even if you can’t eat the real deal, you want your substitute to taste just like it. And what’s even better than real butter? Homemade butter!