I do not drink milk. It doesn’t taste good, is thick, and doesn’t contain alcohol. I eat cheese, which is solidified milk, but not the juicy kind. Hard cheese like gouda and parmesan are for me.
Anyway we didn’t gather here to talk about cheese, but my dislike of milk. I can trace the dislike to my youth. I had an Aunt and Uncle who had a real farm, with a quack quack here and a moo moo there. She used to go out every morning and milk a cow or two. They drank that mmilk pretty much stright from the beast, still hot and foaming, and as likely as not to have dark particles floating in it.
I don’t have to tell you that a cow is not the most fastidious of creatures. They rarely bathe, and the underside of a cow is prone to pick up Stuff. Nothing but chance keeps that Stuff from the milk bucket. Sure, my Aunt strained it through cheescloth to get the big hunks out. But a discerning mind like mine knew that there were some particles that would excape this primitive filter.
No matter, they drank it, and if I wanted something to drink (besides well water, which had it’s own tastes), I did too. I believe my dislike of milk came from those times. Even though the supermarket product is far removed from the Cow, it still retains the basic structure: white, thick, smelly, and likely to go bad in a heartbeat.
Imagine the first cave man that said, “Let’s go squeeze that animal and drink what comes out.”