In my years growing up in the UK and then training in a French kitchen, butter was one of the most important kitchen staples; it was incorporated into every dish and served with every meal. Yet in spite of over-beating cream on numerous occasions in the past, I had never made butter. It wasn’t until I lived in Spain, where everything is cooked with olive oil, that I wanted to pursue it further. With cows, goats and sheep, the Basque country boasts a rich dairy industry, producing cheese, but not butter, so we decided to give it a go. But first we had to learn from the best, so we drove seven hours to a small farmstead just on the outskirts of Nantes in France. There we found an old housewife who milked her grass-fed cows for market, retaining the cream on the surface to make butter by hand. The naturally occurring lactic acid had matured and cultured the cream, resulting in a tangy richness. Sitting on a stool, she slowly worked the cream, her only equipment a traditional wooden bowl and her hand. We watched as she beat the thick cream with her hand until it gave way to rich curds and buttermilk. As she kneaded the paste, tears of buttermilk wept on the surface. I noticed the colour deepening, resulting in a rich, yellow butter.
Butter is a pure expression of the land, with a notable variation in taste in the spring, when the cows are in the fields feeding on succulent grasses, herbs and flowers. In the winter, they survive on leaner rations so the taste of winter butter, while still opulent, is markedly different.
Making good butter is a simple process but you do need to follow a particular sequence. Speed and delicate precision are required to ensure the best outcomes in terms of taste, texture and appearance.