Wherein the milk of human kindness curdles a bit

Please be seated, this may come as a shock to you.

The people who produce the foodie-grade edibles in this country are not, by and large, foodies. They are, sadly (for us foodies anyway), usually Birkenstockers who, 30 years ago would have gone on top of a hill with a bottle of Coke and warbled about how they'd like to teach the world to sing if only Coca-cola weren't such an evil Kapitalist enterprise. Nowadays, they have made some grudging acceptance of the free-market (akin to a flat-earther acknowledging our planet's "slight curvature") to the minimum extent required to stay in business. Why do they want to stay in business? "To make a difference."

The problem is that making a difference often leads to stupid-ass decisions. In particular, I am railing against the two major organic dairy producers...you bastards know who you are.

The fact these are Earth Children we're dealing with here was driven home when I noticed, to my regret, that their milk is now "ultra pasteurized." This, as opposed to regular pasteurization, is done SOLELY to extend shelf life. The problem is that the milk now tastes like regular milk and, from a foodie's standpoint, it no longer has any material advantage over milk that clocks in at 75% less. The attitude being "never mind how it tastes...look how good for you/the environment/our neoprogressivist revolution it is!" All references to how much better it tasted have ben dropped from the cartons, in favor of details on how the barns were built by anticapitalist communes from recyclables foraged by Native Americans and how a percentage of the profits have been donated to Hemp Growers Without Borders.

But that doesn't solve the problem of my finding milk that tastes like milk.

FUCK ultra-pasteurization.

Comments

Badger said…
Dude, just buy a cow already. You have the garage space, right?
Joke said…
Badge,

I'll only have space for another 2 weeks, after which the second in my Impractically Italian car collection joins the fleet.

P.S. Today, while driving the first in my Impractically Italian car collection, some ponytailed guy in a Prius flipped me off.

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