milk 1

This bottle holds a bit of liquid Nirvana straight from a local cow who was milked very early last Thursday morning, delivered to me by Handsome Chef Boyfriend Thursday night (er, the milk–not the cow).  On this occasion HCB served as a courier for a friend who took note of my interest in this product not long ago and insisted I have it. HCB refers to this as a “milkshake” because of its rich flavor and high butterfat content <holding hands over ears, shouting la la la, la la la>.  The owner of the bakery where he works as a pastry chef likes this milk and keeps it there; HCB avoids consuming it himself if he can, along with the various other sugary, buttery treats he and his colleagues create day in and day out.  I admire his self-discipline.  I have a feeling I’d have my hands in it in that work environment.

So now this little bottle of fresh dairy insinuates itself into my life.

I am partial to steel cut oatmeal, which I eat many mornings for breakfast with fresh fruit, Greek yogurt, and Vermont maple syrup.  Today I used this milk instead of yogurt; it was a religious experience, friends, self-discipline be damned.  There is very little connection between the same food prepared with grocery store brand skim milk and this.  You may as well call it something else entirely, like, say, Warm Breakfast Butt Porridge, or You Can Never Run This Off with a side of banana.  Or perhaps Fresh Artery Plaque Compote.

I am not complaining.  This is food that has food in it: it nourishes–you can taste it going down.  Interesting that there is so little nutrition in many of the foods that contribute to American obesity.  When I visited the bakery I also learned a thing or two about small dairy farms and the rules that make it difficult for them to ply their trade.  Seems we continue to pay for the absence of common sense in our lives.  And also for our inability to practice moderation.

Allowing this beautiful milk to go to waste would be an overt violation of my ethic of frugality, which I continue to sharpen and hone.  No, I will use it all, joyously.  The challenge will be pacing myself, as I must work mainly naked in a room full of mirrors in my own trade; the absence of moderation makes itself known.  Thank you, HCB and friend, for this thoughtful gift which has also given me pause for reflection.  And thank you, madam cow.

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