Educating Sarah (and Others.)

Sarah’s house appears to have its very own buttery. It’s a small room at the end of the building and behind the kitchen. As far as I can tell from the view given by the single window that looks out onto Mill Lane, it’s where they keep their wine. I must bring the matter up the next time I get to have a conversation with her.

‘Why’s it called a buttery?’ she will probably ask. ‘We don’t use butter; we use Sainsbury’s Olive Spread. And if we did, we’d keep it in the fridge anyway.’

Persuaded by the fantastical (and almost certainly delusional) notion that Sarah is a rare example of a sapiosexual, I will proceed to explain that mediaeval castles had two storage areas off the kitchen. One was where they kept the liquor, and was called a buttery after the French ‘bouteille’ meaning ‘bottle.’ The other was where they kept dry stuff like bread and meal, and was called a pantry after the French ‘pain’ meaning ‘bread.’ In the unlikely event that justice prevails, she will hopefully reply:

‘I wish I was as clever as you, Jeffrey. Can I be yours for ever and ever please?’

Aren’t you glad you read that?