butter or grease? anyone? anyone?

Butter or grease? Perhaps from a European perspective, it's much of a muchness. But oh, the world of difference to me now. Every day I have to choose: butter or grease? Butter or grease? Because there are two kinds of half-moons in this country (and they never make a whole), and ne'er the twain shall meet (except in my belly). Half-moons, or medialunas, are the ubiquitous Buenos Aires' croissants, their curled up, slumbering figures lined up coyly dozing in bakeries and cafés the length and breadth of the city. And they come in two varieties: butter, or grease (the latter being a rough translation of the word grasa, referring to the oil used in their preparation). So much subtler than the cat/dog cliché, the subcategories in the half-moon war make the game infinitely more complex. A butter half-moon from Continental, the café across the street from my Time Out office, is worth ten of grease, but not if the grease are the simultaneously melting and crunchy variety (ooh, the blissful recollection) available from the Entre Rios panadería. And if they're warm, fresh out of the oven? Ah, that changes things too. The sweetly springy butter version rarely stands the test of time, but oh, when it's warm and soft from baking! And there are other factors to take in. Whether they are to be eaten with coffee or mate, whether it's morning or merienda (afternoon snack) time, whether you're dunking or eating it dry, whether you're starving or merely peckish. The permutations would leave even a committed croissant muncher dithering. Well, I'm going to go out on a limb here, and state my preference. I am going to define myself against the butter brigade, and go with grasa. And like Boca Juniors, this preference isn't something you can change on a whim. I am committed. Grease it is and the devil take me for it. Unless, of course, it's from Continental . . .