Of course I like food. One glance at my generous girth should answer any questions you might have on that subject.
I’m not into deep-fried bugs and grubs like that guy on the TV show, but I’m game to try all kinds of new things.
Case in point — almond milk. I watched the commercials and blew it off for a long time until one of our sons trying to lose weight said he bought some and never looked back.
As a youngster, I drank copious amounts of unpasteurized milk and never suffered any ill effects. We got into 1-percent milk in recent years and that was fine as well. I was delighted to taste the almond variety a few weeks ago and have been pouring it on my oatmeal with blueberries and bananas ever since.
I’m a huge supporter of the dairy industry and still consume more than my share of dairy products in many forms. Kaye and I both recall our fathers sitting at the kitchen table on a Sunday evening, breaking up slices of homemade white bread into a bowl of milk for their supper.
A close friend whom I won’t name here again for fear of stimulating too much good-natured ribbing at his friendly coffee-klatches, said his wife makes him an occasional “hot milk cake,” much the same as his mother used to do.
I don’t know if it’s a regional thing, but I never heard of it. I asked Kaye and she shrugged her shoulders as well. So, my quest began. I searched through Kaye’s lovely collection of ancient cookbooks, including “The American People’s Cookbook” from 1956 and some hand-printed classics from the 19th century. No luck.
I jumped onto the Internet and read four recipes to Kaye. She embraced one of them and, if I’m a really good boy, she’ll whip one up for me before I’m too old to chew it.