Butter, baby.

Three restaurants where butter steals the show.

I don't have many pet peeves.

Hey. I saw you roll your eyes! Okay, well, maybe a few.

One of my biggest has to do with butter. I like many things cold – beer, white wine, a scoop of ice cream on a cone, the hearts of men apparently, but butter, no that’s not one of them. Cold butter is a crime. It’s hard and unforgiving and tears apart innocent slices of gentle bread, torn-up victims of its freezing heart.

I like my butter almost warm, sitting at room temperature for some time so it becomes soft and glossy, and its flavor blooms from flat and pale, to textured and radiant; so it glides over the bread in a smooth stroke, like a frosting on a cake, a Zamboni over skating ice.

I’ve noticed a few restaurants feel me. They’re not only serving butter properly at room temp, but they’re displaying their magnificent mounds on the pass or at the bar, like you might display an ancient museum bust or a hand-cut diamond and emerald brooch at Tiffany’s. The butter is properly put on a pedestal, in an earthen crock or a deep bowl, for diners to ogle at, as they should. I’ve ogled. I’m not ashamed. Perhaps you have too?

Here are the city’s best butters. Now go eat them!

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Third Falcon

Third Falcon’s butter is made by a third-generation butter maker in Normandy usung Malaxage, a technique from the 19th century to knead the butter, like you might dough.

Butter at Third Falcon, an inviting corner restaurant dedicated to the cuisine of Brittany in Fort Greene, is displayed like art in a gallery, sitting on the bar to be oohed and ahhhed at, on the way past. I’m a feminist, but it’s catcall worthy, soft and salty, in a creamy mountain stroked with a butter knife with steep slopes and hills, low dips and valleys.

It’s arranged in a pretty oval cocotte chef Cali Faulkner, an alum of Crown Shy and Eleven Madison Park, found at an old antique store in the French countryside. (She washes the crock by hand every night so it doesn’t break.)

Her butter comes from Beurre Bordier, a fastidious little French operation run by third generation butter maker Jean-Yvves Bourdier, who sources dairy from farms in and around Brittany, Normandy and the Loire Valley.

The cool thing about Brodier comes from something called Malaxage, a 19th century technique where the cream from whole milk is matured then churned and then massaged — the “Malaxage” — with a big wooden wheel, then re-kneaded by hand, almost like you would dough, so it develops a really unique fluffy but silky texture.

It gets salted on the move, it then goes to the “tapping” workshop where it’s shaped into slabs, blocks and small little interesting shapes. (You’ve got to watch this video to see the way it’s made. You’ll realize how heavy the butter is when it’s kneaded, it’s a workout.)

“They are really unique in that they massage the butter which allows it to have this really special texture,” said Faulkner. “It gets to temp really well and has a perfect amount of salinity and creamy smoothness to it which makes it worth its weight.” It is a marvel.

For Cali, the choice of butter was a significant one; it’s at the heart of her Normandy-inspired restaurant and she wanted it to be special. “Butter is at the forefront of our mission,” she told me. “Butter and dairy is at the core of this region and our cuisine. There’s no better way to get people amped up than to serve this butter.”

The butter lives in the fridge overnight and gets taken out in morning so it comes to temp by service time around 5pm where it sits on the bar, in full view of diners digging into Sole Meuniere for two, a delicate poached halibut with celeriac, vin jaune and a slab of herb butter, or clouds of airy Parisian gnocchi, tucked into braised leeks and comte. It’s served with her homemade brioche for $10. Again, a steal. That brioche has a crust but inside is all light and air, practically branded with butter in every crumb. It’s a delight, so much more than I expected, like finding a folded up $20 in the pocket of an old jacket. (I get very excited when that happens.)

The idea to keep the butter out on the bar was one inspired by her time cooking and travelling in France. “There are a few spots in Paris and in the countryside where butter is so impressive and it’s displayed. I wanted to replicate that bounty and generous feeling of having butter out on the bar for everyone to see. People are responding to it. There are a lot of pictures and I hear, “OMG look at that butter,” all the time.

“The best feeling in the world is to swipe the butter knife through it,” she said. “It's so fluffy and gorgeous when it's the right temp. It's a textural delight.” I couldn't agree more.

Libertine.

Libertine’s butter, kept on the pass, is churned in France by a fromagier so it has a lactic tang I might call cheese-adjacent. It’s marvelous.

At Libertine, the lovely little slice of Paris tucked into the edge of the West Village, the butter is also a masterpiece. It stands in a crock on the pass to the busy open kitchen, a monument to the devilish and wonderful French folks who eat forbidden foods like butter on the regular. Here you can do the same. You must.

Their butter is "Beurre de Baratte" aka 'Churned Butter' from one of France's greatest fromagiers (cheesemongers), Rodolphe Le Meunier. The milk is sourced from impeccably-raised Normandy cattle, and is made with a wooden butter churn, with naturally-developed cultures from the environment. As a result of this labor-intensive, traditional process, it has a beautiful lactic tang. I’d say it’s cheese-adjacent – and it has a higher fat content than most other butters so you’re tasting that extra something in the lush salty butter.

The butter is kept on the pass to temper it, for spreadability, because owner Cody Pruitt has the same pet peeve as I do. “It's one of my (many) dining pet peeves to be served cold, hard, impenetrable butter,” said Pruitt. “Why bother sourcing something with such beautiful fat content if you're going to serve it from the fridge, like a dairy puck?”

The team serves the butter simply, with a generous half of a baguette from their friends at Winner Bakery in Park Slope. Their Bread & Butter costs $8. You have paid a lot more for less. Don’t miss it.

Foul Witch

The Cultured Butter at Foul Witch is house made daily just like their focaccia.

The butter at Foul Witch, the Avenue A bistro serving uninhibited Italian fare in a Gothic setting with a “you-can-check-in-but-you-can-never-leave” vibe (don’t worry you won’t want to ever leave), has a thing for big beautiful bowls butter too.

Their housemade cultured butter is the texture of very expensive hand cream — the kind none of us can afford — smooth and velvety and plumped up with glorious butterfat. Let me be honest — I would use this as a body butter without hesitation.

It’s made daily and used at all of their other restaurants — Blanca and Roberta’s too — but it’s only shown off at the Witch. “We keep it on the pass in the nicest bowl we have, both to show off and also so it stays at a nice temp for spreading.,” said Roberta’s Executive Chef Sam Pollheimer. The butter is served with sourdough sesame foccacia that they also make in house ($5).

The butter has fans, guests who hover around and take selfies with it, like it’s Taylor and Travis. “Most tables order, it,” says Pollheimer. “We definitely get a lot of people taking a sneaky photo of the butter for the gram.”