I feel like I’ve been duped, and I’ve no one to blame but myself.
Milk has always had a place in my arsenal of beverages; I tend to consume at least one gallon a week, normally closer to two or three. It’s just the right bevvie to accompany a nice piece of cake, or a couple handfuls of Christmas cookies (note to self: must have tollhouse and haystacks soon!), or simply to quench the middle of the night thirst.
My mom got on a low fat kick during my adolescence, and for quite some time, was consuming skim milk. I didn’t notice at first (ok, almost a couple of years), but I became curious. I spent a fair amount of time at Jeff’s house, and we regularly had glasses of “bookie,” his family’s affectionate name for milk. (Apologies, Jeff, I don’t remember the spelling, but that we pronounced it much the same way one would pronounce “Pookie.”) At any rate, the milk at Jeff’s house was awesome: always cold and flavorful.
I pointed this out to my mother one time at the store, and she said perhaps it was the fact that Jeff’s family purchased another brand of milk. Indeed, they typically bought Borden (Elsie, how’d you do it?), and when I asked if we could purchase Borden milk and if no, why not, the answer came with a bit of a glare and a, “cos’ we use another brand,” as she put a gallon of grocery store house brand milk into the cart. End of discussion.
Ultimately, that meant, when I was buying my own milk, I could choose what I liked. So, once I was purchasing my own groceries, I jumped right on the Borden wagon, and happily purchased and consumed Borden 2% milk, and loved the hell out of it, despite the fact that it was noticeably more expensive than the store’s house brand.
Several years later, after I had been living on my own for some time, I was visiting my parents for a meal, and decided to have a glass of milk. Unfortunately, it was a horrible experience; the milk was almost tasteless. As the diet rage and health awareness continued during the 80s and 90s, my parents had moved away from skim milk to 0% fat milk, citing the need to reduce fats in their diet as much as possible.
This proved to be most irritating, because no fat milk to me tastes just like a glass of water with 2 drops of white food coloring in it, absolutely no taste of milk whatsoever. For years, particularly at holidays, I was less able to enjoy the Christmas cookie experience due to the fact that the milk at my parents’ house tasted crap.
At the end of the 90s, when I lived briefly (i.e. a few months) at home, I purchased my own groceries, including milk. On any given day, there might be 4 or more gallons of milk in the fridge: one gallon crap milk, and two or three gallons of my preferred stuff. (Note – it was not unusual for me to drink half a gallon in a single chug during this time of my life). Fortunately, my parents acquired a second refrigerator, which helped create a bit of space. The other alternative was to purchase a cow, and that just wasn’t going to fly in the suburbs of Dallas. However, I did notice that my father had taken to drinking my milk, as he preferred the milk with the higher fat content, also.
True, I tend to be brand loyal, and was still drinking Borden products, but had finally realized that the reason I had enjoyed milk everywhere but at my parents was down to the fact that everywhere else, I was drinking milk with higher fat content. This epiphany was more or less triggered by a comment my sister made once, “Bryan, you dork. This is skim milk, and that’s why it tastes horrible. You’ve been drinking whole milk everywhere else.” Oh.
Well, over the years, I’ve stuck to drinking milk with a higher fat content. Indeed, I moved away from the Borden brand, though that had more to do with location and availability than anything else. As a happy shopper at Whole Foods, I tended to buy the milk from the local supplier. I forget the brand, but the cow on the jug looked really really happy. Besides, the milk tasted awesome, almost better than the milk at Jeff’s house from all those years ago.
While in Spain, I favored the milk from central lechera Asturiana, though the Pascal lechera was also pretty tasty. However, I liked the look of the bottle of Asturiana better: lots of cows grazing in a valley, with a scenic view of snow covered mountain ranges in the background. With a label like that, how could the milk not taste great?
In Germany, it didn’t take much time before I found alpen Frisch milch. The blue carton and the mountain range just grabbed my attention. Furthermore, the 3.5% fat content was in line with my expectations. So, for the past four years, I’ve been a loyal, satisfied consumer of the brand.
I don’t eat nearly as much cereal as I once did, but I do do a fair amount of late night chugging, so my milk consumption is still relatively high. Furthermore, I prepare quite a few lattes for myself. Call it a café con leche, a latte macchiato, or whatever you want.
People here prefer a lot of milk foam in their coffees (lattes, etc). I think even the home espresso machines are built with this in mind. My milk foamer just tends to go nuts once I turn the knob and start steaming, and this has frequently resulted in some spills in my kitchen: a little milk makes a LOT of foam.
Meanwhile, in my local café, they tend to pride themselves on building a pile of foam that actually rises a few centimeters above the top of the glass, referred to as a “crown.” In fact, just about every café tends to serve lattes this way. Last weekend in Hamburg, the waiter was unable to add an extra shot of espresso into my drink, indicating that if he did, the cup would overflow. He then brought me my drink which was about 2/3 milk foam, most of which was above the rim of the glass.
Being a bit of a barista, I’ve also prided myself on my ability to prepare coffees for not only myself, but also any guests. However, more than once I’ve fallen way short on expectation. My coffees tend to be a bit more espresso and a bit less milk foam. Several times, guests have looked disappointed as I served them a latte with way too little Schaum. I started practicing, hoping to improve my technique in order to create a bit more satisfaction, and still found myself short of the mark. Every so often, though, I have been able to create the mountain of foam that one tends to find regularly in cafes around town. These brief moments of success have continued to encourage me, but I’ve still been curious as to why it’s a bit hit or miss: my technique is pretty constant.
I’ve been closely watching people make coffees over the past several weeks, trying to put my additional spare time (equate that with: increased time spent in cafes) to good use by spotting a secret technique from another barista. The study has been inconclusive: my method for foaming milk isn’t too different from anyone else’s.
Last week (or the week before), right after a trip to my local supermarket, I was making a coffee, and suddenly there was foam all around! I was amazed, and quite pleased with the results. I actually was patting my little milk bottle for a job well done when I noticed that the fat content was marked 1.5%, which is basically the equivalent to low fat milk in Europe. “Wow, that milk tastes pretty good for such a low fat content,” I thought to myself. “I thought I had been buying milk with more fat in it.” I looked in the fridge at the other bottles of milk, and noticed that two of them were marked with 3.5% fat, and the other two were 1.5%.
Now, I’ve always been semi-aware that milk with lower fat content tends to make for more “foamy” foam when using said espresso machines. The next time I was at the supermarket, I examined the milk section a bit more closely. It turns out that my brand of milk here only comes in a blue carton. However, I’ve never bothered to really read the label (after the first time I ever bought the brand of milk) to notice that the milk comes in the two varieties. Instead, I always grabbed the blue carton off the shelf. As it happens, the whole and low-fat milks are set side by side on the shelf.
In a word, Duh. In two words, mystery solved. Not only have I figured out what my problem was in the milk foaming department, I’ve also finally realized why other customers always seemed to spend so much time examining the cartons of milk. They were looking for the right fat content to be sure that they didn’t select the wrong one, whether it be for the sake of preparing super foamy milk, or simply because of their diet preferences. Hmmm, live and learn.
All in all, it’s been a pretty amusing week. I provided a bit of entertainment on Monday night when I suddenly was hit by a charley horse while sitting in a little café. I jumped up and did that little “ouch, holyshitholyshitholyshit!” thing that you have to do as you try to loosen the muscle so that the cramping stops. It’s not the funniest thing in the world to experience, but once it stops, you have to laugh with relief, along with whoever happened to observe you cramping up, as they tend to be laughing hysterically already.
I did take some time to entertain myself, too. I set up my second laptop, got the wireless working, and spent a few minutes skyping with myself, before powering down and heading off to see the Gaslight Anthem play a show Thursday evening.
Last summer at a festival, I saw this band play for the first time, and they left an impression, as I mentioned in a post shortly thereafter. I looked forward to their next release, and was quite pleased when it came out a few months back. The group did a few festivals in Europe during the summer months, but none were too close to Frankfurt, and truth be told, I really wanted a chance to see them at an individual concert, where they would have more time to play.
So, when the fall tour of Europe was announced, I marked the date in my calendar, vowing not to miss the show. Too many times this year I’d had to miss concerts due to conflicts involving work. Well, I’ve certainly managed to free up my time, but when it started raining like hell on Thursday evening, I suddenly had an urge for a quiet night in watching movies, even though I’d already purchased my online ticket. “Boop!” I skyped myself. “Log off and get yourself to the show, you mediocre barista!”
That’s all I needed, just a little push. I grabbed my jacket, was walking down the street to the U-bahn in the pouring rain, when I decided to splurge on a cab, which would get me to the show in about 1/3 of the time.
I had to show the cabbie how to work the GPS system, but within a few minutes, we arrived at the show, and after a quick feel up by the security guy who was a bit too cozy, I was inside the concert hall.
A new punk act from the UK was playing the early set. Their stuff wasn’t bad, and I’ll keep an eye on them. The concession stand was a madhouse, but I organized a couple of beers (one to drink, one for backup), then found a spot to view the stage.
The second act was a guy named Chuck Ragan, performing a solo acoustic set. I’ve been familiar with his old group Hot Water Music for several years, but wasn’t really so overwhelmed. His solo work, however, is incredible. Check him out if you can, particularly live. His stage presence is magnificent.
Shortly before 10, the lights went out, and the unmistakable beginning of the Clash’s “Straight to Hell” came on the PA. I smiled to myself, realizing how good this show was going to be.
Halfway through one of my favorite Clash songs (and apparently a favorite of the band, too), the Gaslight Anthem skull and cross bones banner was unfurled as a backdrop (hmm, a bit St Pauli), and the band made their way on stage.
When I listen to TGA, I can’t help but dance about. This has made for some interesting moments at home, and a likely source of amusement for my neighbors across the street, at least until I started remembering to close the blinds. In concert, though, the crowd of fans danced and stomped about with great pleasure. The band just enjoys the hell out of playing, and it is so obvious that you can’t help but get enthused.
For two hours, the guys just rocked things up. The three albums they’ve produced to date kind of progress in style, similar to the first three albums by the Clash. While I recognize the connection and the influence, the Clash will always be the Clash, and thank goodness, the Gaslight Anthem will always be the Gaslight Anthem. TGA’s style is their own and is to be admired. As I said above, the guys enjoy playing their show, and that says something for the power of influence great music has on people. Sing like no one is listening, and dance like no one is watching…
Towards the end of the show, right about the time for encores, I ran into a few folks I know from my neighborhood. They tend to hang out on the corner of my street at a little punk-rockabilly store. We all enthused about how great the show was, and watched the band finish their set. What a great evening.
So, it’s continued to rain here over the past couple of days, but I’ve been sitting indoors, enjoying quality milk foam and listening to Chuck Ragan and TGA, with a bit of Clash thrown in just to make things complete.
Keep the faith.
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