I was making up some packet pasta for lunch today (I know, I know – but I like it. I’m the anti-foodie in many ways) and I noticed it didn’t call for 1/2 cup of milk – it specified 2% milk. My Kraft Singles proclaim that they’re made with 2% milk. Whole milk mozzarella cheese is a big deal in the shredded-cause-I’m-too-lazy-and-like-my-knuckles-intact section of the grocery store.
Now, me being me, anything short of whole milk simply doesn’t make it into my kitchen. Since Starbucks went to 2% milk being it’s standard milk, I’ve had to become “that woman” who can’t just order a latte, cause now I have to say, “Large latte with whole milk.” (No, I don’t use their made up sizes. More than once I’ve just ordered a Bigassed latte and gotten just what I needed.)
I hate that whole milk has become so demonized over the years. It was all that was ever in our house growing up and neither my brother or myself are any the worse for wear. I remember going to friends houses and dreading seeing skim milk come out of the fridge. It looked like water that had some milk mixed into it, and frankly, tasted about the same.
But whole milk is awesome. It hasn’t made me fat. It’s made my recipes wonderful. And I will stick with it until the day I die.
Now I am going to go have a glass of milk with a couple pieces of leftover Halloween candy.
And that is your health food diatribe for the day.
