The offspring, back in town for a visit, showed us a picture from a graduate student party: a young woman holding a skewer, on the end of which is something of irregular shape, about the size of a walnut, apparently fried. This was fried butter. The barbaric splendor aspect was I thought a bit damaged by the can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in her other hand. If you're consuming fried butter, shouldn't you wash it down with absinthe, vodka, or at least a heavier beer? But these are all persons in their early 20s, slim and fit, and they probably have at least fifteen years in front of them before their MDs give them the cholesterol talk. And, judging from the review of it from another consumer, one's first fried butter does not encourage one to have a second.
The young woman is from the Midwest, where a lot of ingenuity goes into finding things to fry, perhaps to show off at state fairs. My own butter consumption--which never ran to butter per se--has fallen off drastically since I got the cholesterol talk. I'm not sure that my system, arteries apart, could manage fried butter.