Milk in the raw, and other misadventures in the hinterlands of northern Illinois.


I remember having milk delivered to our house in the (then) furthest western suburbs of Chicago, back in the early 60’s. Oberweis was a diary back then, and not a (positive) political voice in the cesspool of Illinois gubernatorial gladiator pit. It was (and I suspect, still is) good tasting milk. The products available at our local grocers, and those in the nearest big city, are okay, but there is no longer the rich creamy goodness one remembers from childhood.

So Deb and I were talking about what choices are available. Yes, there are some stores, relatively close enough, who offer Oberweis. But for all their creamy goodness, they are a bit higher in cost, not to mention the (one time) deposit on the glass bottles. So, we went one step further. After all, if we are going to pay more, why not see if there was a way to eliminate the middle man, and buy directly from the source. Thanks to this fine fellow, we found a place.

Yesterday, we went and picked up two gallons of rich unadulterated “raw” milk goodness. Two quarts of cream also found their way to our car. Not to be forgotten, were the dozen eggs of various hue and size, and finally, a brisket. It took about an hour to get there. The roads are nice, but there is no such thing as a straight line from our part of the hinterland, to where that bit of dairy heaven awaited us.

Tried a glass when we returned home. Somewhere, a memory from a far simpler time stirred. A six year old’s eyes lit up, and smile widened at the arrival, some fifty years later, of milk as it was ment to be. Rich creamy goodness, caressing taste buds in a manner almost immoral. And the cream…my coffee demanded not to be left out, and who am I to deny my caffeine addiction, a bit of satisfaction. Add a bit of sugar, a dash of cinnamon, and there is not a manufactured “creamer” on the market which can rival it, in taste or texture.

We will be returning. Having sampled the ambrosia of the Dairy Gods, we mere mortals have little choice but to return. Thank God, none of us are lactose intolerant.

After “moo-vanna”, we headed over to one of my companies other stores (I work for a small grocery chain, here in the hinterlands). As with many grocery chains over the past 10 years or so, this particular building had once housed a competitor, now it was “ours”. It was the first time I had the pleasure of seeing another of our stores. This store was easily 3 times as large as ours, and it showed. It wasn’t that there was so much more product, the large amount of area would have almost demanded this be so. What was of greater interest to me … the layout. All the photos we, my fellow employees and I, have seen of product layout, now made sense. They have more than enough room to be as creative as they want in product placement and presentation. When it comes to our store, we are lucky in having room enough to properly place what we have, let alone allow ourselves some extravagant product presentation, at least to the level of our bigger brother(s). It was interesting, and awakening to some degree.

There will be return trips to both places, in the not too distant future.

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2 Comments

Filed under Harbor Life, Scribbles

2 responses to “Milk in the raw, and other misadventures in the hinterlands of northern Illinois.

  1. What kind of eggs? I ask because aracauna hens lay bluish-green eggs. Oh, and my mom lurves her some raw milk. I can’t abide any kind of milk, but do love raw cream with my coffee 🙂

  2. It is a mixture of eggs…some brown, some light brown, some blue (Robin’s egg blue…perhaps a shade or two darker). Depends on which of her hens are prolific enough to share with the rest of us.

    And man oh man, the fresh cream in the coffee is to die for!!!! We literally have to scoop it out of the jar. Add a dash o sugar (or sugar substitute for those so inclined) and a pinch of cinnamon …. and coffee never tasted better. Now that we are using a percolator vice (the now defunk-ed) Mr Coffee, even the coffee is better tasting.

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