>This woman is gonna be the death of me. Enjoy this repost from The Lo Zone archives.
I’m talking, love her like she’s family. I know women like her. I’m related to women like her. Deep down, I am a woman like her. I’m a product of people from the Deep South (the Mississippi Delta). I spent every summer vacation of my youth visiting the heart and the heat of the Delta. I also lived in Montgomery, Alabama for five years during the time I worked as a corporate manager for KinderCare, and spent an enormous amount of time in Atlanta and Birmingham as well.
…is my favorite on the Food Network (and I love the Food Network, so that’s saying a lot). Sometimes I leave it on all day, watching show after show or just letting it run in the background. I am an avid cook and appreciator of food, and, to me, watching people cook on tv is one of the most sinfully sensuous things in the world, more provocative than the most gonzo of porn (…not that I know anything about gonzo porn).
Which is why I’m worried about my Paula. I’m so afraid she’s gonna just fall the fuck out one day, right there on tv, in the middle of gobbling a spoonful of butter pie, gulping a swallow of butter milkshake, or biting into a butter casserole. For those of you who don’t know or watch Paula, she loves butter.
Yesterday I watched her put a stick of butter in a pot of corn chowder (she has an endless supply of these creamy yellow sticks of death…expect to see her use at least three or four per thirty-minute episode). Once the chowder was done, she ladled some into a bowl, then cut two hunks from another stick of butter and put those ON TOP of the single serving of chowder. Then she plunged her spoon into that stroketastic bowl of buttery goodness and sampled herself a bite, rolling her eyes back in that way she does when she tastes something that (you and) she knows is simply scrumpdilly-deadlyishus. How is it that she has not suffered total cholesterol lock-up right before our eyes? How is the blood managing to chug through her veins? The passages must surely be pin-thin, so clogged they have to be with pure butterfat solids. A red blood cell doesn’t stand a chance.
By all scientific and physiological measures, Paula should have keeled over from congestive heart failure at least two-three years ago. Yet there she is in her kitchen every afternoon at 4pm, armed to the teeth with sticks of butter, and I’m always right in front of the tv, her faithful little student/idolater, eager to see what she’s going to suggest I shove a stick of butter into next. Yet something else perplexes me. When I make Paula’s recipes, I get bigger. Miraculously, however, over the course of the four years-plus that Paula’s been on the air, I’ve actually watched her get smaller, going from this…
Which makes me wonder about Paula and all those magical wands of decadent yellow goodness. Is the Stickabutter Plan the new South Beach Diet? Should I be dropping one into my morning smoothie? Will a few sticks a day keep the strokes away? There’s no limit to Paula’s uses for them. Considering the fact that she’s still practically a newlywed, I can only imagine what she does with a stick of butter in the bedroom.