My husband, Braden, insists butter belongs on the counter. “That’s how Grandma Selma did it,” he says. But seeing it melt into a shiny puddle in our warm kitchen always made me uneasy. When I asked if he’d left it out again, he simply replied, “Of course. Grandma Selma always did.” Unsure, I texted my friend Odessa, who immediately warned me to toss it. From then on, that butter dish felt like a tiny danger zone. Braden happily used it; I stuck to olive oil. One morning, after reading conflicting food-safety articles, I tried to talk to him again. He...
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