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Growing up as a kid in the ’80s, butter was for eating out — the cool discs served on a rimmed plate at the country club, the rip-open individual packets accompanying toast and pancakes for Sunday diner brunches — but margarine was our everyday meal accompaniment. The heavy beige tub of Country Crock was a permanent fixture on our kitchen table. It was so big it occupied nearly an entire refrigerator shelf on its own. I haven’t looked closely at my parents’ fridge in a while, but that tub actually might be still there today.

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