If you read last week’s column you know that I’ve been thinking about milking my sheep and making my own gourmet cheese and yogurt.
I was originally attracted by how healthy and great tasting sheep milk is supposed to be, but now I’ve come up with an even better reason.
I would be able to skip what has to be the most overwhelming and headache inducing part of the grocery store.
That’s right, the dreaded yogurt section.
If you want to see some exasperated people that’s the place to go. There has to be more choices of yogurt than any other product in the entire grocery store.
Just trying to pick out a flavour is enough to completely undo a person.
There used to be four basic berry flavours.
Then they came up with a choice between berries on the bottom or berries mixed in. From there it escalated into complete madness.
Now you have flavour choices from everything from kiwi banana to amaretto cheesecake.
But that’s not all, oh no, that’s not all. You also have zero per cent, one per cent, two per cent or 3.5 per cent fat, unsweetened, and artificially sweetened or yogurt sweetened with sugar or honey or even juice.
If you’re health conscious you need to read the labels carefully to make sure they’re not slipping in any cornstarch or gelatin.
If you manage to find a low-fat unsweetened organic probiotic yogurt with active bacterial cultures you have not only hit the health mother lode but you’ve probably spent 20 minutes of your life that you’ll never get back scanning labels while fighting back tears of frustration.
Oh how well I remember that golden day I found my perfect yogurt!
Not only did it meet all of my criteria but it tasted good too. The only downside was that it cost a third more than the other brands.
I was willing to overlook this disconcerting fact until I realized that not only did it cost more, but it was 100 grams smaller; just enough to not be easily noticed.
In fact the only reason I did notice was because I was attempting to stack containers inside each other and my old brand refused to nest inside of my new brand.
And that’s when I read the only part of the label I had failed to scrutinize in my search for the perfect yogurt - the size. After that, nothing could taste good enough to make the bad taste of being taken advantage of go away.
If I could make my own yogurt then all the politics, choices and debilitating anxiety of the yogurt aisle would be moot.
I could sail on by without as much as a sideways glance. Especially since discovering yet another line of yogurt that addresses your mood needs.
There’s Plum Honey Lavender for Calm, Berry Jasmine for a Glow, Pink Grapefruit for Refresh, Vanilla Chai for Relax and Peach Green Tea for Revive. I don’t know about you, but I am getting stressed out just thinking about them.
I was telling a health conscious friend about my homemade yogurt plans and mistaking her look of pity for one of envy I patted her arm and told her there was no reason she couldn’t get a sheep to milk too.
“Not me!” she laughed. “I’ve got far better things to do with my time than wrestle with livestock. Besides, whenever I want to make my own yogurt I just buy organic milk. I have a supplier who hooks me up with the best raw milk you’ve ever had.”
“I don’t suppose . . . I mean I have sheep so I don’t really . . . but just out of curiosity . . . ”
“Oh I can’t give you a name!” She exclaimed, jumping back like she had just been tasered. “It’s all very hush, hush and illegal. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go now.”
“On a milk run?”
“No! I mean, no, of course not. Why? You weren’t going to follow me or anything were you?”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t drive that white Jeep anymore, just in case you thought I did.”
“I see. Well good luck with raising your own,” she looked around furtively then dropped her voice to a whisper, “milk.”
Home-grown raw milk from a sheep named Rowdy. Maybe I don’t lead such a boring life after all. And if my homesteading skills don’t work out I could always hire myself out as a detective. Turns out I’m pretty good at following people.
But I’ve already said too much.
Shannon McKinnon is a humour columnist from the Peace River country. You can read past columns at www.shannonmckinnon.com