Wednesday, December 17, 2008

3/4 Soy Latte, home

There was only a trickle (or two trickles, really) of milk in the carton. I was experiencing that curious combination of running late and feeling lazy that tells you there is no way you're going to run out to buy more milk. I poured what was left of the milk into the jug.
"Yeah, that'll be fine," I thought. "It won't be much, but it'll be enough for a short mac."
"Wrong," said the milk as it was blasted to smithereens by the steam wand, the gag-inducing stench of too-hot milk filling the kitchen.
"Shithouse," I added, agreeing with the milk.
Who was that?
"Don't ask me, I'm dead, " said the milk.
It sounded muffled.
It was coming from the fridge. I cautiously knocked.
"Who's in there?"
I opened the fridge.
"Thanks. You should be able to understand me now."
"Bon Soy! I forgot about you."
"You cowdrinkers often do. You should always remember I'm in here. I make a tasty latte, you know."
"Well, it's worth a try. Thanks, Bon Soy."
"To Soy and Beyond!"
And with that, he poured into the milk jug. The rest is history. My first successful soy latte. It was damn good. It was strong enough that you couldn't really taste that carob bud sheen that often accompanies soy milk.
Thanks, Bon. Soy to the rescue.

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