While at the grocery store this afternoon, I decided to pick up a pint of heavy whipping cream. Yesterday, I was watching Anne Burrell make scones and honey butter, and I decided that homemade butter sounded like a good idea.
Never mind the fact that I’ve never made butter before in my life (the closest I’ve been to that was making ice cream in coffee cans … forget the ice cream machines!). I think it would have been a lot more rewarding to just put the cream in a container and spend the evening shaking it until butter formed, but I decided to bypass the character-building process and dumped the cream into the stand mixer (I would also like to add that I had never used a stand mixer before meeting Alan — my wrists thank him).
We added honey to taste (Alan took over partway because my fingers kept locking up) and mixed it until the buttermilk mostly separated from the butter. Then, we dumped everything into a colander and and squeezed out the excess liquid with damp paper towels. We packed the butter into a small canning jar and tried it on some slices of French bread, with a sprinkle of sea salt. It was delicious.
I feel sort of like June Cleaver.
Or Caroline Ingalls.