Sometimes you need a second brain....

     My wife baked corn muffins Saturday. We were joining some friends for dinner from Smoque, and what goes better with barbeque — ribs! brisket! chicken! — than cornbread?
     To make cornbread, you need buttermilk, I was told. So off to Sunset. "Get as little as possible," my wife instructed. I looked for a small, half & half sized container, but there was a choice of one: this Prairie Farms quart.
     The corn muffins were a hit, the buttermilk placed in the door of the fridge to await its doom — being thrown away in a week or two, I imagine. Because what good is it except for baking? In fact, what is buttermilk anyway? I had no idea. Well, a vague idea ... milk with butter in it? But that couldn't be right. Too easy. Am I the only one not to know? A common lapse, or a glaring void in my general knowledge, like not being able to pick out Australia on a globe. Curious, I took a half teaspoon of the stuff. Yuck. Puckeringly sour. Then I consulted Prof. Google.
     The BBC's Good Food blog has a comprehensive and cogent explanation:

     What is buttermilk? 

     There are two types of buttermilk. Traditional buttermilk is a thin, cloudy, slightly tart but buttery-tasting liquid that's left after cream is churned to make butter. These days, however, it is more commonly sold as a thick liquid produced commercially by adding an acidifying bacteria – and sometimes flavouring and thickening agents – to milk. This commercial product can be thought of as a gentler, thinner yogurt, with any buttery flavour likely added.
     Buttermilk is traditionally a drink, but is more often used in baking now. When used with baking soda, it reacts to form carbon dioxide, thus helping mixtures such as soda bread, rolls, scones and waffles to rise.
     It's also used as a marinade, as the acidity can help to make meat more tender and flavourful. You'll find buttermilk used in this way in some chicken dishes.

     Fair enough, and a potential use for our remaining buttermilk. Maybe I'll marinate something. A reminder what the internet is great at — helping fill in awkward gaps in one's knowledge.
     That worked. But sometimes the internet falls flat. At first anyway. For instance, last week suddenly a series of dark lines appeared on Center Avenue. I immediately thought of a sheet music staff — the five parallel lines where the notes are written. (See, the buttermilk isn't the only thing that's cultured around here). Then, while having this semi-sophisticated thought, I actually looked up, to see if there were wires above. Perhaps I was suddenly seeing the shadow of electrical wires I hadn't noticed over the previous 23 years.
     There were no electrical wires. Just uniformly spaced lines in the road, obviously drawn in some kind of liquid, curb to curb and parallel with it. I usually jump on such mysteries, but here let the ball drop. There's a lot going on. Monday afternoon they were back. I googled "Lines on streets in Northbrook" and got nothing. I stopped there, embarrassingly, and put in a call to the Northbrook Village Hall. But it was late in the afternoon, and even the most brisk and efficient municipality could not be expected to reply.

     So I thought I would put it to you. Perhaps we could have a spirited discussion in the comments section that isn't about my deficiencies as a person and host. My theory is that they're some sort of heretofore-unimagined anti-snow prophylaxis, that instead of salting the roads after the snow falls, they now can do so before due to some marvelous advance in road salt technology.
     Or is that insane? As daft as looking up for wires? Because that's the only theory I could come up with. Take a look at the photo below. Does anybody know? Does anybody have any guesses? I hope the phenomena isn't as common as dirt, because it's new to me. 

    I had just explained the above to my wife, about 10 p.m., as she sat on the sofa. She glanced down at her phone, idly, and tapped with her thumb. Three seconds passed.

    "Those grey parallel lines are brine that has been spread to melt snow and ice in advance of a snowstorm," she read. "The brine solution goes on wet but dries after application."

    So my guess was right, which is good. But my search was too feeble to find the answer. Which is bad. The lines are nothing new — at least 20 years old. The problem was, I had searched "Lines on streets in Northbrook" while she searched, "Lines in the street, salt." A reminder that, often, what you look for determines what you find.