Before my brother left for the Iowa State Fair, he kept talking about “the butter cow.” Silly me, I thought “the butter cow” would be some gentle bovine creature with big brown eyes and a set of abundantly generous udders. I looked forward to my brother’s selfie with said creature.
Had I just done a search of the internet, I would have known that “butter sculpting” is a century-long tradition in the Midwest. There would be no selfie of my brother and a living, breathing bovine.
I was devastated.
Perhaps one day, the Nickels-Sortwell House will be carved in butter. Until then, I’ll remain adverse to all butter carvings larger than one inch in diameter.