I’m not a milk drinker. In fact, I hate drinking milk. (Just ask my parents about their attempts to make me drink milk with dinner every night and the inevitable upturned glass–don’t even try to pour me milk–and the eventual Kristen and milk stare-downs after everyone had left the dinner table and my Dad or brother was washing the dishes.)
But there are few things I cherish more than my morning pot of black tea (PG Tips, please), milk no sugar. I woke up this morning to heavy rain, a dark gray sky and hunger pangs in my stomach. While Hans took a shower I lay in bed dreaming up the perfect rainy day breakfast. Hot oatmeal! With a fresh apple added, maybe some raisins and cinnamon. I jumped out of bed, at 6:50AM no less, put the kettle on, got the oats out of the cupboard and the milk out of the fridge–only to find that the milk had gone bad.
Thick, clumpy, curdled. But it didn’t smell bad. Maybe it had turned into buttermilk…in which case I could still make oatmeal. So, I did it. I tasted the curdled milk. It didn’t smell bad, really! I honestly thought it might be okay. But it wasn’t. It was horrible.
For breakfast we had weak black tea, soft boiled eggs and bread, sans butter. (We’re out of butter. Besides some strawberry ice cream in the freezer, we’re out of dairy. For someone who hates milk, I can’t imagine my life without dairy.)
Tomorrow morning will be better.