Milk

My young adulthood featured becoming vegetarian. Nothing simple about it, as I had been exposed to nothing but canned vegetables, and hated them. But I never liked meat, although it was a mandatory part of most meals. As was the absolutely mandatory glass of (detested) milk. I had to eat the meat and whatever else I put on my plate, with baked dessert as the reward. I had a lot of gut irritation, and no one could figure out why. A lot of white bread, fried food, cheap meat, sugary baked desserts.

Aunt Alma was so surprized when she made me spinach, and I could not get enough, thought it the best flavor in the world. My body craved it, so it tasted amazing. Summertime, I ate the rhubarb from the back yard, snitching it as it sprouted. I ate sweet clover from the lawn, cherry tomatoes from my mother's garden, and unripe grapes from Mrs. Rizzardi's arbor, through the fence. Any fruit, although my mother would only buy a small amount, because of the expense. Which is part of why I loved visiting Aunt Alma, she would buy me enough peaches and plums to gorge myself.

So, when I cooked for my own meals, on so little income, I subsisted on quick breads, ramen noodles, free candy bars from my job at the theater, fried eggs, and out of a strange habit, milk. Which I still hated, but considered nutritious. I never really felt well, despite lots of dance classes, walking everywhere. Broccoli was my first foray into greenery, along with lettuce. It was a long, slow process. I don't remember when I started steaming frozen vegetables, but that did seem to help quite a lot. That may have been years later, after the army chow halls, when being vegetarian was just not possible. When I ate whatever was put on my tray, and swallowed it without much ado. Some of which may have been - technically - vegetables.

Going to restaurants is what most changed my diet. Eating well cooked and seasoned vegetation opened my eyes to possibilities. Lamb and green beans at the International, a Greek place in Detroit. Having only tried canned green beans, to taste them cooked lovingly was a revelation. Today, I'll go for about anything green and leafy. I never drink milk. I occasionally have a dream about having to drink the stuff again, and it's gagging.


These days, I try to eat more vegetation than not, but I've left it as an exclusive ideal. I like the green stuff. I rarely eat dessert. I have wheatgerm every morning in my hot cereal, meat not every day - more as a side than a main, good eggs from a friend with chickens, never white bread, always some vegetables, a bit more balance. My gut has been pretty stable for a while. Although it has it's moments. Cheese in small amounts, no damn milk. Mostly, no one shouting as I eat, and no one forcing me to ingest what I don't want.

I really enjoy spinach, treated kindly.

Have I mentioned how much I hate milk*?






*The first word I learned to spell was "Bar." My earliest friend boasted spelling the word "Milk." My parents were impressed. I knew it was a better word, if only for having more letters, and being less seedy, but I hated milk too much to bother to learn how to spell it.