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FOOD ADVENTURES

'Hope you chuckle over Steve Van Rooy's fond recollections about Sweetened Condensed Milk.

Sweetened Condensed Milk

By Steve Van Rooy
Woodstock School Alumnus, Class of '68

Late in February 2003, an unusual blast of arctic air iced us in, here in Dallas. I couldn't drive down (or up) my driveway for two days. Iced in.

On the second day, we ran out of milk. Judy, my wife, rummaged around the pantry and came up with a can of Borden's sweetened condensed milk. A faint salivation started upon gazing at this little can that was going to see us through a day without milk. A memory was stirring, embedded deep...way down...in my past.

I knew exactly what to do. Poke a hole on either side of the top of the can. The hole you're going to pour out of has to be considerably larger than the "air" hole on the other side, because of the viscosity of the contents. I poured a sludgy tablespoon or so into my tea that morning. The memories started in again, louder this time.

I looked around. No one was in the kitchen. I upended the can. Took a quick guilty swallow. Wow! It was heaven.

As long as I can remember, we used to pack a can of sweetened condensed milk on our [school] hikes in the Himalayas. At some point we would get tuckered and need an energy boost (for some it was much, much earlier in the hike than for others). Out would come the can, two holes on either side, and we would sip away. Or glug, as the case may be.

Once opened you had to be a little careful. You either had to do the whole thing in or stuff a little paper in the holes so the contents would not spill as you hiked along. I have cleaned up my sticky messy backpack several times after re-packing my opened can of sweetened condensed milk a bit carelessly.

Later the next day, back in Dallas, the roads cleared enough to get through so we could buy some groceries and milk. That evening, rummaging around in the fridge before I sat down to read, I spotted the can, still nearly full. My eyes dilated...more memories. If I did not do something with this can now, it would just go to waste, right?

I took it in to the living room, propped up my feet, opened my book ("World on Fire" by Amy Chua--excellent) and proceeded to upend the can of sweetened condensed milk. In the next ten minutes or so - I glugged, slurped and sucked my way through the rest of it.

It was heaven! Bliss. Initially, I had a slightly niggling feeling that I was finishing it a little too fast, but guilt faded away quickly.

Savoring each moment, I lost interest in reading...the soft, super-sweet memory-candy overwhelming my palate. I leaned back, tipped that sucker up and reveled in memories of not-so-long-ago. At one point, I sat right up giggling. Started chuckling over the memory of a particular hike. It was 1964. I was in the 9th grade and this was the first WNHS (Woodstock Natural History Society) hike I was ever on.

Dodi Tal

This whole affair had the feel of an expedition and took place the week following Going-Down-Day. This was the day we all looked forward to--the day we left school, went down the mountain to Dehra Doon, and got on trains to go home - wherever that was - on the plains. Except for those of us who lived right there in Mussoorie. This usually was the last week of November. We were going to Dodi Tal, a remote lake a couple of mountain ranges to the north of us. At a lofty 10,000 feet, the lake was rather unique. The only one like it I know of in that area of the Himalayas. It was located at the base of Bandar Puunch, a 23,000 foot peak, directly north of where we lived.

First, we had to get official permission, because for the previous ten years no foreigners had been allowed to hike back into this area as it was too close to the border of Tibet, which the Chinese then now controlled.. A politically sensitive area. Someone (I think it was Bob Fleming, our biology teacher) got us the necessary permits. Then we had to locate vehicles to take us through the town of Tehri and up the valley on the other side of Nag Tibba to Uttarkashi. From there we would hike.

My recollection is a bit weak at this point, but I do recall I was not feeling well. It took me most of a day to make it to Agora, a little village with a Dak Bungalow where we spent the night. These bungalows were built by the British for their officials to stay in as they traveled on business, and were now available to rent for a small fee. Several tried to make it all the way to the lake and a number succeeded. My brother Gordy ended up spending the night on the trail. I, meanwhile, enjoyed the Shepherd's pie that Dr. Petersen made that evening. The next day the rest of us made it to the lakeside cabin where we enjoyed a fine meal of trout. The lake was brimming with them! My other recollection is of the numerous Monal pheasants in the area. Mr. Fleming was the first person I had seen who could actually shoot game birds in flight. Not only were these birds beautifully iridescent, they were good eating.

Wait wait! I am getting to the point. It was on the way back. We got back down to Uttarkashi. We had conquered! We were victors. We were heroes. And then the fuel pump on the Petersen's car went out. This was an old American sedan, late forties Chevy or Ford. One with big front fenders. And, of course, there were no mechanics around. The hood was removed and tied up on top. The lot fell to Jim "Blue" Ginn to sit on the front fender and, as the car was rolling, to slowly pour gasoline down the open carburetor. (We called Jim "Blue" because by the time he was a high school junior his beard had come in so thick it was nearly blue.)

This was tricky. The roads were unpaved and uneven. The car was moving. Jim did not have a seat belt on. He was pouring gasoline, a very volatile liquid, down a relatively small hole near wires designed to create electrical sparks. The possibilities were exciting. I am not sure we really thought through all the implications of what we were doing.

That night we were all very tired. But Ginn most of all. As a bed-time treat he decided to have a swig of….Yes, sweetened condensed milk. The only problem was...he was very tired. As he balanced that can on his lips, laying on his back in his sleeping bag, he was simply overcome with sleep. He slept well. And in the morning his beard and face - and the entire inside of his sleeping bag - was coated with what used to be his can of sweetened condensed milk!

Ah, yes. Sweet memories.

Now, go, without guilt of any sort, and get ye to a store to buy a can of the stuff. You will LOVE it!

Steve Van Rooy

© Copyright 2003, Steve Van Rooy