Dairy Queen

It always starts the same way, whether I’m with friends, family or alone. I’ll be at a coffee shop and I’ll say, “Hi - can I get a large latte?” The barista’s response 80% of the time is,  “Sure! Is whole milk fine?” and the answer is always yes. The other 20% is someone I know going, “Why not have oat, hemp, almond, or soy milk in your coffee? Why take a pill?” I’ve posed my argument over and over, but here we go again.

I’m lactose intolerant. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’ve never been confirmed as lactose intolerant by a medical professional. Nevertheless, dairy and I don’t go well together. But, I love it. Cheeses, ice cream, butter and yogurt are my weaknesses. I swear, I was the brains behind Dairy Queen in my past life. I am a dairy queen. I will never turn down cannolis at the birthday party or extra parmesan on my pasta. Ice cream sundaes and cheese boards, I am THERE. Milk, however, is a more complex situation.

For as long as I can remember, I haven’t been able to drink milk. I don’t know if it was because of the smell, taste, or the way it always felt chalky to me. I just do not like drinking milk. I don’t even like the thought of a glass of milk being poured my way. I can have milk in things, but thinking of it being a large, core ingredient gives me the shivers.

Chocolate milk is an exception, though. The sugary, chocolatey deliciousness is a different experience than plain old cow juice to me. Whether it be drinking it by the glass, dunking cookies in it, or having in my cereal (don’t knock it ‘till you try it, seriously), I am obliged to chocolate milk. I’ve tried so many times to even take a tiny sip of regular milk, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

The summer before I started college, I went to visit my family in Europe. Before getting to our final destination in Zadar, Croatia, we stopped off in Rome and Dubrovnik.  My days consisted of delectable pizzas, pastas with the creamiest sauces, and all the bread, cheese, and ice cream I could think of. It was heaven. My grandparents were the happiest grandparents ever imagined. They kept making food, and you can believe I kept eating. This wasn’t my first time back home, but every trip consisted of having my favorite meals on repeat, and ending each night with a hearty scoop of ice cream.

After what had been a nourishing and heartwarming trip, I came back to the States to start preparing for school. I got back into a good routine with healthy eating, working and socializing, but something felt off. I blamed my nausea and stomach aches on my upcoming period,  jet lag, and catching up with friends, and thought nothing of it for a while.  

Weeks went past and I kept running into the same problem. Why was I feeling so ill almost after every meal? I had joked with myself, “Maybe I’m lactose intolerant.” All the symptoms lined up, so I impulsively bought Lactaid, ate a cheese stick and tried it out. For the first time in a while, I felt fine. In pure disbelief, I continued to experiment with it, and sure as shit, dairy was making me nauseous. My start of college paired with Lactaid being at my every reach. In almost every bag I own, or even some pants pockets, there is Lactaid to be found. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do eat dairy a lot. The reason for so much Lactaid on hand is for a bit of a different reason, though.

Coffee. I started drinking coffee (with a splash of milk) around my junior year of high school. (I know I’m going all over the place, but I can assure you that milk is fine IN things. On its own is my issue. Ick..) It was a little ritual I kept to have one mugful after dinner and unwinding for the day. As my classes got more difficult, I switched it to having a cup in the morning to set my tone for the day. I loved the taste, the way the roasted, nutty flavor would invigorate me. I loved how the mug felt heavy in my hands, warm and plentiful.

As I was becoming more independent, coffee was becoming more trendy in my generation. Classmates would bring venti iced coffees to classes, or would post fancy coffees on their Snapchat stories. I’d travel into New York City with friends and family and I’d be surrounded by people ordering cappuccinos and savoring every last sip of it.  Not only did I want to explore the world of coffee a bit more, but I wanted to be “that girl”. I wanted to strut down the streets of New York City, coffee in hand feeling confident like Carrie Bradshaw. I was determined to exude confidence coming into college, and this meant doing something for myself. I was going to get myself a good damn cup of coffee.

Within my first few weeks of school, my boyfriend Joshua took me to one of his favorite coffee shops, tucked into the corner of West 57th St. Rex was cozy and heartwarming and I instantly felt intimidated by everyone in there but also right at home. Transitioning from high school to college wasn’t the easiest, so the feeling of home was something I held onto. I was a bit flustered, unsure of what to order. Joshua goes, “What would you like?” and the first thing I could think to say was, “I’ll have what you’re having!” 

A few minutes later, we each walked out, each a latte in our hand, taking our first slow sip, mine being preceded by a chalky Lactaid pill. The instant the milky coffee combo hit my tongue, I was obsessed. I could taste the individual notes of the coffee and savored every last bit of the steamy milk. I asked myself, “Is this...is this what milk tastes like?” In my own disbelief, I even asked Joshua that question. “I mean, kind of? You’re having a really milky coffee, so yes. But this is also a coffee, so don’t worry about it!” 

Week after week I kept trying lattes at different spots and having my moment of bliss at first glance of my drink. Despite having to swallow (or sometimes chew) these disgusting pills, it was worth it. I had started bringing my friends to some of my favorite spots, and they’d go, “Why not have oat, hemp, almond, or soy milk in your coffee? Why take a pill?” As much as I LOVE oat milk, it just isn’t the same. I don’t know what it is about whole milk in this sense, but its frothiness blending with the espresso is just sheer perfection to me. Nothing else does it better for me. 

Never in a million years did I think I’d say I have to take Lactaid pills sometimes. Never in a million years did I think I’d openly say, “I love lattes,” being the girl who squirms at the sight of a glass of milk. Things change, people change. I’m just a girl with a complicated relationship to dairy, and an uncomplicated relationship to lattes.