Natural, Necessary, and Normal
THE BEST FOOD THERE IS. This is what I've been told since my childhood. I drank some with every meal for a long time, and it sat proudly on the kitchen table. And whereas I often ended up leaving some food on my plate, I always emptied my glass. I would even ask for more. With its immaculate color and creamy coolness, how could you fail to find it comforting? Milk, since it's milk we're talking about, doesn't even need to be named to evoke childhood, abundance, and purity. It is, after all, our first food. Isn't it nature's superfood, too? Which is lucky, since milk is everywhere: in grilled-cheese sandwiches, frozen yogurts, and milk cartons at schools; in government health recommendations; at the heart of our economy: it is our very bread and butter.
I still remember Mr. Sealtest. That wasn't his real name. But it was the one written on his truck, spelled in white letters against a red background. Every two days, my mother would place a small card in our kitchen window. For me, it symbolized a promise of happiness. For Mr. Sealtest, it was a sign of our order: a few bags of milk and occasionally some ice cream. I still remember the way he'd say "Hello," his melancholy smile, the small talk about weather that defied the forecasts, vacations that were slow in coming. At the time, if someone had asked me where milk came from, my answer would unhesitatingly have been, "From Mr. Sealtest's truck" (of course, I knew it also came from the grocery store, but theirs was not as good). I loved Mr. Sealtest. I loved milk.