Gilding a Lily and Making Compound Butters

It's always nice to have simple tricks, quick flicks of the wrist that take an outfit or a meal or a moment from the realm of ho-hum to something truly special. Headbands do this, as do winks, pom-poms on your athletic socks, and -- you know what I'm about to tell you -- compound butters, in which butter, so perfect to begin with, gets an added flourish.

There was a cold night one recent winter when my dining companion and I finally stepped inside the neighborhood restaurant with a sexy redhead painted on the brick wall facing the side street and heavy draperies hanging in the windows. Inside, it felt like a Swiss ski lodge (not that I've ever been in a Swiss ski lodge), creaky with dark wood and cozy. I ordered the steak frites because, well, it's always hard for me to pass up a pile of fries and a bloody steak. When the waiter brought our plates, my steak was topped with a pat of butter, green-flecked with herbs and garlicky. Who knew that steak could become more delicious by topping it with butter? Who thinks of these extravagances? Whoever you are, I love you.

The next time you are having a go-to sort of no-frills steak and chops dinner, I suggest you plop on a pat of compound butter. You can add herbs and garlic like my neighborhood restaurant (a good way to use up the last of summer's potted herbs), anchovies, orange zest, or my personal fave, Maytag blue cheese. Mix one part blue cheese into two parts butter. Turn out onto a piece of plastic wrap and roll into a log if you'd like to to slice off neat rounds. And if you're not so much into the fineries of presentation, just put your compound butter into a teacup and keep covered in the fridge until a warm pork chop or bloody steak comes your way.