I have an image etched in my memory. I remember a great jar of aluminum with two large blades that slowly, were removing a colored liquid halfway between cream and white bone.
I also have an odor in the memory, but I can not describe it, unlike the images, but if I were to have it in front of me now I would recognize it: the smell of fresh milk. I remember the warm heat emanating from the vessel, that I, as a child, perched on tiptoe, and I noticed in the air with my lips and nose. That was when I accompanied my mother in summer at a farm for milk.
And then ceased to be milk, bread ceased to be bread, and eggs were no longer eggs but become shells with yolks full of nutrients inside.
Remember that time? Those who are very young may not. But it's not my case. I recall with anger that day my mother said we could not boil the milk at home, we had to buy it in plastic bags instead (yes, great industrial design error) or later, tetra-bricks. Milk was no longer milk and entered into a process of dehumanization. Under the guise of the ultra-pasteurization (the only method to make it drinkable, apparently), a gradual decomposition of the rich liquid in its many components began, removing all until it was little more than a serum. Have you seen how translucent is skimmed milk? Yes, at the same price, or greater than before. Meanwhile, in parallel, dozens of products arose stealing part of its flavor, cheeses, creams, cottage cheese, etc. The process was so cruel that this same milk, without a soul, at one point so lean and naked, has gradually been re-enriched with who knows what concoctions: acids, vitamins, vegetables or fish protein.
