Condensed Milk Quotes

Honey or condensed milk with your bread?” he was so excited that he said, “Both,” and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, “but don’t bother about the bread, please.

I tried and failed. I tried again and again and succeeded. [Epitaph from Gail Borden's gravestone.]

She deserved a man who could offer her the best of everything, not a lifetime of butcher's leftovers got on the cheap and a drop of condensed milk in her tea when they couldn't stretch to sugar. Jimmy was working hard to become that man, and as soon as he did, by God, he was going to marry her and never let her go.

She laughs. “Except you, Lara Jean. You’re still itty-bitty pocket-sized.” She says it sweetly. Like sweetened condensed milk. Sweet and condescending. Poured on super thick. I

There’s lots of sticky things here,” he said. “I see blackstrap molasses, wild clover honey, corn syrup, aged balsamic vinegar, apple butter, strawberry jam, caramel sauce, maple syrup, butterscotch topping, maraschino liqueur, virgin and extra-virgin olive oil, lemon curd, dried apricots, mango chutney, crema di noci, tamarind paste, hot mustard, marshmallows, creamed corn, peanut butter, grape preserves, salt water taffy, condensed milk, pumpkin pie filling, and glue.

The Key lime pie is very simple to make. First you line a 9-inch pie plate with a graham cracker crust. Then beat 6 egg yolks. Add I cup lime juice (even bottled lime juice will do), two 14-ounce cans sweetened condensed milk, and I tablespoon grated lime rind. Pour into the pie shell and freeze. Remove from freezer and spread with whipped cream. Let sit five minutes before serving.

Klaus leaned out the window and began to pour the mixture of blackstrap molasses, wild clover honey, corn syrup, aged balsamic vinegar, apple butter, strawberry jam, caramel sauce, maple syrup, butterscotch topping, maraschino liqueur, virgin and extra-virgin olive oil, lemon curd, dried apricots, mango chutney, crema di noci, tamarind paste, hot mustard, marshmallows, creamed corn, peanut butter, grape preserves, salt water taffy, condensed milk, pumpkin pie filling, and glue onto the closest wheels, while his sister tossed the hammocks out of the door, and if you have read anything of the Baudelaire orphans' lives - which I hope you have not - then you will not be surprised to read that Violet's invention worked perfectly.

He was a wonderful companion for five years. Unashamedly lazy, he required little exercise to uphold his cynical nature. His modus operandi was to sit in front of the fire and drink condensed milk with whisky in it. He used to accompany her to the odd evening of attribution and liked to break wind when he was ready to leave, behaviour Evelyn told her friends she too would eventually adopt. They were good for one another. They were happy years. In her classroom at the Slade, he’d sleep on a blanket under the desk as slides of the High Renaissance sequenced above him. He died peacefully during a long and tedious talk on Giorgio Vasari. Evelyn was surprised more hadn’t succumbed. It wasn’t one of my best, she’d said. Midway through, even she had felt for a pulse.

Francie, Neeley, and mama had a very fine meal. Each had a thick slice of the "tongue," two pieces of sweet-smelling rye bread spread with unsalted butter, a sugar bun apiece and a mug of strong hot coffee with a teaspoon of sweetened condensed milk on the side.

There'd be time for that later; time to throw condensed-milk cans in the proud Martian canals; time for copies of the New York Times to blow and caper and rustle across the lone gray Martian sea bottoms; time for banana peels and picnic papers in the fluted, delicate ruins of the old Martian valley towns. Plenty of time for that.

It wouldn’t be right, the first night on Mars, to make a loud noise, to introduce a strange, silly bright thing like a stove. It would be a kind of imported blasphemy. There’d be time for that later; time to throw condensed-milk cans in the proud Martian canals; time for copies of the New York Times to blow and caper and rustle across the lone gray Martian sea bottoms; time for banana peels and picnic papers in the fluted, delicate ruins of the old Martian valley towns. Plenty of time for that.

First you line a 9-inch pie plate with a graham cracker crust. Then beat 6 egg yolks. Add I cup lime juice (even bottled lime juice will do), two 14-ounce cans sweetened condensed milk, and I tablespoon grated lime rind. Pour into the pie shell and freeze. Remove from freezer and spread with whipped cream. Let sit five minutes before serving.

Until Perry was five, the team of “Tex & Flo” continued to work the rodeo circuit. As a way of life, it wasn’t “any gallon of ice cream,” Perry once recalled: “Six of us riding in an old truck, sleeping in it, too, sometimes, living off mush and Hershey kisses and condensed milk. Hawks Brand condensed milk it was called, which is what weakened my kidneys—the sugar content—which is why I was always wetting the bed.” Yet it was not an unhappy existence, especially for a little boy proud of his parents, admiring of their showmanship and courage—a happier life, certainly, than what replaced it. For Tex and Flo, both forced by ailments to retire from their occupation, settled near Reno, Nevada.

work the rodeo circuit. As a way of life, it wasn’t “any gallon of ice cream,” Perry once recalled: “Six of us riding in an old truck, sleeping in it, too, sometimes, living off mush and Hershey kisses and condensed milk. Hawks Brand condensed milk it was called, which is what weakened my kidneys—the sugar content—which is why I was always wetting the bed.” Yet it was not an unhappy existence,

There was a special Nolan idea about the coffee. It was their one great luxury. Mama made a big potful each morning and reheated it for dinner and supper and it got stronger as the day wore on. It was an awful lot of water and very little coffee but mama put a lump of chicory in it which made it taste strong and bitter. Each one was allowed three cups a day with milk. Other times you could help yourself to a cup of black coffee anytime you felt like it. Sometimes when you had nothing at all and it was raining and you were alone in the flat, it was wonderful to know that you could have something even though it was only a cup of black and bitter coffee. Neeley and Francie loved coffee but seldom drank it. Today, as usual, Neeley let his coffee stand black and ate his condensed milk spread on bread. He sipped a little of the black coffee for the sake of formality. Mama poured out Francie's coffee and put the milk in it even though she knew that the child wouldn't drink it.

Charlie glanced at the poster hanging on the door, which announced the store's annual Hungry Ghost Festival, just four days away. It used to be Charlie's favorite holiday, from the puppet shows at the community center to the paper lanterns that his mom hung outside and to the food- especially the food. Sautéed pea shoots. Roasted duck. Pineapple cakes that fit into the palm of your hand. Then there was his grandma's shaved ice with all the toppings- chopped mangos, condensed milk poured on thick, and her famous mung beans in sugary syrup. He could eat a whole bowl of those.

I would like to forget the image of the ship’s crane at Southampton docks when it lifted into the sky the three wooden trunks which held all that my family owned. There is only one memory I want to preserve. It is Maria, who is also Zama, sipping condensed milk on the steps of the doep at night. The African nights were warm. The stars were bright. I loved Maria but I’m not sure she loved me back. Politics and poverty had separated her from her own children and she was exhausted by the white children in her care, by everyone and everything in her care. At the end of the day, away from the people who stole her life’s energy and made her tired, she had found a place to rest, momentarily, from myths about her character and her purpose in life." (from "Things I Don't Want to Know" by Deborah Levy)

You seem surprised to find us here,’ the man said. ‘I am,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anyone.’ ‘We are everywhere,’ the man said. ‘We are all over the country.’ ‘Forgive me,’ I said, ‘but I don’t understand. Who do you mean by we?’ ‘Jewish refugees.’ [...] ‘Is this your land?’ I asked him. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘You mean you are hoping to buy it?’ He looked at me in silence for a while. Then he said, ‘The land is at present owned by a Palestinian farmer but he has given us permission to live here. He has also allowed us some fields so that we can grow our own food.’ ‘So where do you go from here?’ I asked him. ‘You and all your orphans?’ ‘We don’t go anywhere,’ he said, smiling through his black beard. ‘We stay here.’ ‘Then you will all become Palestinians,’ I said. ‘Or perhaps you are that already.’ He smiled again, presumably at the naïvety of my questions. ‘No,’ the man said, ‘I do not think we will become Palestinians.’ ‘Then what will you do?’ ‘You are a young man who is flying aeroplanes,’ he said, ‘and I do not expect you to understand our problems.’ ‘What problems?’ I asked him. The young woman put two mugs of coffee on the table as well as a tin of condensed milk that had two holes punctured in the top. The man dripped some milk from the tin into my mug and stirred it for me with the only spoon. He did the same for his own coffee and then took a sip. ‘You have a country to live in and it is called England,’ he said. ‘Therefore you have no problems.’ ‘No problems!’ I cried. ‘England is fighting for her life all by herself against virtually the whole of Europe! We’re even fighting the Vichy French and that’s why we’re in Palestine right now! Oh, we’ve got problems all right!’ I was getting rather worked up. I resented the fact that this man sitting in his fig grove said that I had no problems when I was getting shot at every day. ‘I’ve got problems myself’, I said, ‘in just trying to stay alive.’ ‘That is a very small problem,’ the man said. ‘Ours is much bigger.’ I was flabbergasted by what he was saying. He didn’t seem to care one bit about the war we were fighting. He appeared to be totally absorbed in something he called ‘his problem’ and I couldn’t for the life of me make it out. ‘Don’t you care whether we beat Hitler or not?’ I asked him. ‘Of course I care. It is essential that Hitler be defeated. But that is only a matter of months and years. Historically, it will be a very short battle. Also it happens to be England’s battle. It is not mine. My battle is one that has been going on since the time of Christ.’ ‘I am not with you at all,’ I said. I was beginning to wonder whether he was some sort of a nut. He seemed to have a war of his own going on which was quite different to ours. I still have a very clear picture of the inside of that hut and of the bearded man with the bright fiery eyes who kept talking to me in riddles. ‘We need a homeland,’ the man was saying. ‘We need a country of our own. Even the Zulus have Zululand. But we have nothing.’ ‘You mean the Jews have no country?’ ‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ he said. ‘It’s time we had one.’ ‘But how in the world are you going to get yourselves a country?’ I asked him. ‘They are all occupied. Norway belongs to the Norwegians and Nicaragua belongs to the Nicaraguans. It’s the same all over.’ ‘We shall see,’ the man said, sipping his coffee. The dark-haired woman was washing up some plates in a basin of water on another small table and she had her back to us. ‘You could have Germany,’ I said brightly. ‘When we have beaten Hitler then perhaps England would give you Germany.’ ‘We don’t want Germany,’ the man said. ‘Then which country did you have in mind?’ I asked him, displaying more ignorance than ever. ‘If you want something badly enough,’ he said, ‘and if you need something badly enough, you can always get it.’ [...]‘You have a lot to learn,’ he said. ‘But you are a good boy. You are fighting for freedom. So am I.

I've lived my whole life across the street from the Molinas, but this is the first time I set foot in Sugar. The theme inside is very gaudy. Twinkling lights shaped like icicles hanging from the ceiling. Red walls, just like the facade, the shade of Santa Claus's clothes. Glass shelves and counters polished until they sparkle, not one sign of fingerprints or kids' fogged breaths. There's a translucent wall in the back with display slots. Most are empty by now, but an assortment of bolos de rolo, Seu Romário's famous cakes, takes the main spot at the center. The special lighting shows off the traditionally super thin spiral layers--- twenty layers in this roll cake, he claims--- filled with guava and sprinkled with sugar granules that glisten like a dusting of crystals. The shelves to the right and left are packed with jujubas, bright candies, condensed milk puddings, cookies, broas, and sweet buns, filling the air with a strong, sweet perfume, the type you can actually taste. It's like being inside a candy factory.

She had been maimed by an illness that was so far out of fashion it might have been a wartime recipe for pink blancmange made from cornflour when everyone these days ate real chocolate mouse and tiramisu. TB was Spam fritters and two-bar electric fires and mangles and string bags and French knitting and a Bakelite phone in a freezing hall and loose tea and margarine and the black of the newspaper coming off on your fingers and milk in glass bottles and books from Boots Lending library with a hole in the spine where they put the ticker, and doilies and antimacassars and the wireless tuned to the Light Programme. It was outside lavatories and condensation and slum dwellings and no supermarkets. It was tuberculosis, which had died with the end of people drinking nerve tonics and Horlicks.

A unified Iran is constituted not only politically but also affectively. Liberty and constitutional rule bring "Affection among us." The affective sentiment- that of bonding among differing brothers-produces political bonds of national unity and was associatively linked with other desires. Perhaps foremost was the desire to care for and defend the mother, in particular her bodily integrity. The same words were commonly used to discuss territory and the female body. Laura Mulvey calls these words keys "that could turn either way between the psychoanalytic and the social" (1980, 180). They are not "just words" that open up to either domain; they mediate between these domains, taking power of desire from one to the other. More appropriately, they should be considered cultural nodes of psyhosocial condensation. Tajavuz, literally meaning transgression, expresses both rape and the invasion of territory. Another effective expression, as already noted, was Khak-i pak-i vatan, the pure soil of the homeland. The word used for "pure," pak, is saturated with connotations of sexual purity. Linked to the idea of the purity of a female vatan was the metaphoric notion of the "skirt of chastity" (daman-i 'iffat) and its purity-whether it was stained or not. It was the duty of Iranian men to protect that skirt. The weak and sometimes dying figure of motherland pleaded t her dishonorable sons to arise and cut the hands of foreigners from her skirt. Expressing hope for the success of the new constitutional regime by recalling and wishing away the horrors of previous years, an article in Sur-o Israfil addressed Iran in the following terms: "O Iran! O our Mother! You who have given us milk from the blood of your veins for many long years, and who have fed us with the tissues of your own body! Will we ever live to see your unworthy children entrust your skirt of chastity to the hands of foreigners? Will our eyes ever see foreigners tear away the veil of your chastity?

He appeared to live entirely on sweet tea, condensed milk, hand-rolled cigarettes, and a sort of sullen internal energy. Shadwell had a Cause, which he followed with the full resources of his soul and his Pensioner’s Concessionary Travel Pass. He believed in it. It powered him like a turbine. Newton Pulsifer had never had a cause in his life. Nor had he, as far as he knew, ever believed in anything. It had been embarrassing, because he quite wanted to believe in something, since he recognized that belief was the lifebelt that got most people through the choppy waters of Life. He’d have liked to believe in a supreme God, although he’d have preferred a half-hour’s chat with Him before committing himself, to clear up one or two points. He’d sat in all sorts of churches, waiting for that single flash of blue light, and it hadn’t come. And then he’d tried to become an official Atheist and hadn’t got the rock-hard, self-satisfied strength of belief even for that. And every single political party had seemed to him equally dishonest. And he’d given up on ecology when the ecology magazine he’d been subscribing to had shown its readers a plan of a self-sufficient garden, and had drawn the ecological goat tethered within three feet of the ecological beehive. Newt had spent a lot of time at his grandmother’s house in the country and thought he knew something about the habits of both goats and bees, and concluded therefore that the magazine was run by a bunch of bib-overalled maniacs. Besides, it used the word “community” too often; Newt had always suspected that people who regularly used the word “community” were using it in a very specific sense that excluded him and everyone he knew. Then he’d tried believing in the Universe, which seemed sound enough until he’d innocently started reading new books with words like Chaos and Time and Quantum in the titles. He’d found that even the people whose job of work was, so to speak, the Universe, didn’t really believe in it and were actually quite proud of not knowing what it really was or even if it could theoretically exist. To Newt’s straightforward mind this was intolerable. Newt had not believed in the Cub Scouts and then, when he was old enough, not in the Scouts either. He was prepared to believe, though, that the job of wages clerk at United Holdings [Holdings] PLC, was possibly the most boring in the world.

which is a lot creamier and great consumed on its own.   Ingredients: 1 cup fresh orange juice 2/3 cup sugar 2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk 1 cup vodka 1 cup whiskey 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon   Directions: Pour all the ingredients and cinnamon in a blender and pulse a few times until smooth and well blended. Seal in bottles and store in the refrigerator

HOMEMADE SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK cup boiling water 4 tablespoons butter ¾cup sugar ½teaspoon pure vanilla extract 1 cup powdered milk (I used Carnation Nonfat Pow- dered Milk, but I’ve also used my local grocery store brand.) In a blender, or using an electric mixer set on LOW, blend together the boiling water and butter. Add the sugar and let it run for a few seconds. Add the pure vanilla extract and let it run for several additional seconds. Shut off the blender or mixer, pour in the powdered milk, and then blend or mix on LOW until the resulting mixture is thick. Use immediately, or store in a covered container in the refrigerator. This homemade version of sweetened condensed milk will last for up to one week in the refrigerator. Yield: This recipe makes the equivalent of one 14-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk that can be used in pies, cakes, cookie bars and flans. Hannah’s Note: My Grandma Ingrid made this up every Sunday morning and put it in the refrigerator to use in coffee for the whole week. SUBSTITUTE FOR SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK (for anyone who needs to avoid milk or dairy) 2 large eggs 1 cup brown sugar (pack it down when you measure it) 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 Tablespoons flour ½ teaspoon baking powder ¼ teaspoon salt Hannah’s 1st Note: This is easy to make if you use an electric mixer. You can also make it in a blender. You must make it fresh for each recipe you bake. Beat the eggs until they’re of a uniform color and thoroughly blended. Add the brown sugar and mix it in. Add the vanilla extract. Mix it in. Add the flour and beat for one minute, making sure it’s thoroughly incorporated into the mixture. Add the baking powder and the salt. Beat for another minute. Set the resulting mixture aside on the counter until you need it in your recipe. Then add it when your recipe calls for sweetened condensed milk. Hannah’s 2nd Note: This substitute can be used in any BAKED dessert recipe, including pies, cakes, and cookie bars. DO NOT use it in frostings or candy. Yield: One recipe makes enough to substitute for one 14-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk. (That’s the store-bought size.)

It is hardly fortuitous that all the chief actors are property owners with no apparent necessity to work; that they are supplied as if by miracle with endless supplies of honey, condensed milk, balloons, popguns, and extract of malt; and that they crave meaningless aristocratic distinctions and will resort to any measure in their drive for class prestige. Not for nothing is the sycophant Pooh eventually invested by Christopher Robin as 'Sir Pooh de Bear.

TRUMAN’S HERITAGE FUDGE RECIPE   12 ounce bag semi-sweet chocolate chips 1 ounce square unsweetened chocolate 1 can sweetened and condensed milk 1 teaspoon real vanilla 1 cup chopped nuts (optional) ½ cup chopped tiny marshmallows    In a saucepan over low/medium heat, melt together chocolate and condensed milk. When completely melted together, add vanilla and then nuts and marshmallows. Pour into a buttered square pan and chill for two hours.   This can be done in the microwave, too.

Sundays when they could come, my mother would bring a piece of cake and some cookies from the bakery. Of course, the cookies and the cake were past their prime, but that was just the way I liked them. I really don’t know how happy my parents were to see me since most of the time they were there; they would talk to my teachers in conference, and then tell me all the things I had supposedly done wrong. Sadly, I would always wind up with a lecture on how bad I had been and what was expected of me. It was something I had grown to expect, but more importantly, I was grateful for the cake and pastries. I have no idea why, but they also brought me cans of condensed milk. I can only guess that they believed that the thick syrupy milk, super saturated with sweet, sweet, sugar, would give me the energy I needed to think better. After one such visit, I made the mistake of leaving my cake unattended. It didn’t take long before it grew legs and ran off. I couldn’t believe that one of my schoolmates would steal my cake, not at a Naval Honor School! Nevertheless, not being able to determine who the villains were, I hatched a plan to catch the culprits the next time around. Some months later when my parents returned to check on my progress, my mother brought me a beautiful double-layer chocolate cake. This time I was ready, having bought all the Ex-Lax the pharmacy in Toms River had on hand. Using a hot plate, I heated the Ex-Lax until it liquefied, and then poured the sticky brown substance all over the cake in a most decorative way. With that, I placed the cake on my desk and invitingly left the door open to my dorm room. I wasn’t away long before this cake also grew legs, and, lo and behold, it also disappeared. The expected happened, and somewhat later I found the culprits in the boys’ bathroom, having a miserable time of it. Laughingly, I identified them as the culprits, but didn’t turn them in. It was enough that I caught them with their pants down!

A house is just a house, without any condensed milk.

Where did all the condensed milk go?

Or maybe I should say a few things that I “like like” In that same way that in the 7th grade I knew That there was a difference between how to like a sandwich And how I like liked Katie Elbin’s pale blonde pigtails. So..I like like Vietnamese Coffee and the long wait for it to drip Drops down into my clear glass coffee mug with penguins on it. I like like that the penguins playfully dance as the black of my coffee Meets the creaminess of condensed milk. I like like the way that Gatsby read when I was twelve And thought that Romanticism and the early twenties Would be as romantic in my early twenties. As if a field of daisies would be the same as the field of Daisy’s. However, I like like the melancholic tone of my chemicals as well When they become overly emotive. Haven’t you heard the news that we’re dead? Wouldn’t it be grand to go exactly as we planned? I like like wondering if wandering is a wanderlust Or just a wanderlust? I think this was address by a Tribe Called Quest But I’ve lost just who it is whom I was promised I could trust. I like like driving with a GPS Not playing it too close to the chest Or relying on all the Redbull and Slim Jim’s Which my passenger-self digests. And I like like a gentle sadness like a reminder I can feel The realizations that this is all just so ever gosh golly really real That my dream board has visions of what I can do And that what absolutely matters is only relatively true.

Santé Biscuits •1/2 cup of butter, softened •1/4 cup sugar •5 Tbsp sweetened condensed milk (the original recipe calls for three, but I always add more) •1 1/2 cups flour •1 tsp baking powder •3/4 cup chocolate chips •1/2 tsp vanilla Preheat the oven to 350°. Line a baking tray with wax paper. Cream together butter, sugar and condensed milk until light and fluffy. Combine all of the dry ingredients in a separate bowl, then sift them into the creamed mixture, mixing until combined. Add the chocolate chips. Roll the mixture into balls, place them on the baking tray and then flatten them with a fork. Bake for 15 mins or until golden at the edges but still soft. Leave on the tray for 5 minutes, then transfer to a baking tray to cool (even though they are best eaten warm).

The gorgeous dessert, with its dense yellow base covered in fluffy white frosting and topped with strawberries, had Nina’s mouth watering. The “three milks” involved in making the cake were whole, condensed, and evaporated. In addition, whipped heavy cream was used to make the frosting. Definitely not a dessert for the lactose intolerant.

Mac’s Mac N’ Cheese One box of elbow macaroni (cooked and drained) 1/2 cup of sour cream 1 cup of milk 1 can of Campbell's condensed cheese soup 1 ½ cups of (orange) cheddar cheese, 1 1/2 cups of white sharp cheddar cheese, grated 2 eggs 1 teaspoon of ground mustard 1 teaspoon of adobo or seasoned salt ½ tsp pepper ¼ cup parmesan cheese 3 tablespoons of butter Boil pasta for six minutes, then drain.  The crock pot should be set to high.  Add pasta to crock pot along with grated cheeses, cheddar soup, sour cream, butter, milk and eggs.  Mix all together then add all the seasonings.  If desired, add additional cheese or sour cream.  You can periodically check back to make sure it is not browning too much at the sides.  You can stir every now and again. 2 hours to 2.5 hours on high is pretty near perfection although slow cooker times vary.  You can always check on it and look at the sides.  If they are browning too much you can always turn the temp down to low.  The cheese is very flexible also.  You can use different types of cheese or add more or less depending on your taste.  I once caught Delilah adding more cheddar cheese to the crock pot. I honestly think this is the macaroni and cheese recipe I will stick to like glue.  It is amazing.  And it can be tweaked.  Bacon bits can be added to the mac n cheese.  Add some lobster for a nice seafood lobster mac n’ cheese.  Bread crumbs can be sprinkled over the top at the end.  Or if you want to add some veggies, broccoli can be placed on top as well.  Brandon and Rose added sliced hot dogs for AJ since hotdogs are his favorite.

A multinational never plays by the rules in somebody else’s country. This is one of the many reasons why our own economic policies need to be looked at again. It is only logical that nobody will invest money in another country unless they hope to take more money out than they brought in. So how does foreign investment help us? I do not think that foreigners should not be invited in to play a role but I think it should be a role which India decides and which they are required to play in India’s interest. Foreign investment can only help us in areas where Indian capital, Indian know-how, is not available. If the multinationals are desperate to capture the Indian consumer market, which is as large as the whole of Europe put together, then sadly, successive governments have made this easy for them. The only instrument left to us is to defeat them by producing better and cheaper products than they do. In the dairy sector, our cooperatives have continued to hold their own, even against giants like Nestle. If our cooperatives had not been around, we would still be importing baby food, condensed milk and sundry other dairy products just as our neighbouring countries are doing. I take great pride in stating that it is we – our farmers and their cooperatives – who disciplined foreign capital in dairy products in this country.

In 1956 a rather delicate assignment came my way. I visited Switzerland at the invitation of Nestle but with a very specific brief from the Ministry of Industries, Government of India. Industries and Commerce Minister, Manubhai Shah, wanted me to ask the executives at Nestle what they were up to in our country. Under the excuse of producing condensed milk, they were importing not just milk powder, but also sugar and the tin plate for the cans! On my arrival at the airport at Nestle’s headquarters at Vevey, a Nestle car, about a mile long, was waiting to whisk me off to the best hotel in town where they put me up. I met with Kreeber, one of their two managing directors, and some other officers. The discussions turned pretty heated. I told them that my government had given them a licence to set up a plant in India so that they would produce condensed milk from Indian milk, not from imported ingredients. The Managing Director told me that it was not possible to produce condensed milk from buffalo milk, which was available in India. I said to him, ‘If you don’t know how to make it, come to me. I will teach you because I believe we can make it out of buffalo milk. I know it is more complicated than making it from cow’s milk and there are problems, but they are not insurmountable problems.’ When I assured them that it could be done, they said that their experts would have to come and set up their plant. Then they wanted the entire share capital in their hands. In those days government allowed only 49 per cent share capital to foreigners; 51 per cent had to be Indian. Kreeber said they could not agree to that. So I showed them a way out of that too. I said that 49 per cent could be with Nestle Alimentana and 51 per cent could be owned by Nestle India and in this way the entire project could stay in their hands. I was, in fact, facilitating their entry here. Ultimately, the Director agreed to set up a plant in India. At this point I told him that they could bring in any number of foreign experts they liked but my government hoped that, in five years, Indians who would be trained for the purpose would replace these experts. Kreeber’s response to this was that the production of condensed milk was an extremely delicate procedure and they ‘could not leave it to the natives to make’. At this, I lost my temper. Getting to my feet, I thumped the table loudly and said: ‘Please remember that you are speaking to a damned “native”. If you are suggesting that even after five years of training, the “natives” are not fit to occupy any position of authority in Nestle you are insulting my country. My country knows how to do without you.’ And I stormed out of the meeting – which I hope was what any self-respecting Indian would have done.

FOODS KNOWN TO BE HIGH IN FODMAPS THAT SHOULD THEREFORE BE RESTRICTED* Additives (sweeteners and added fiber): fructo-oligosaccharides, high-fructose corn syrup, honey, inulin, isomalt, mannitol, maltitol, polydextrose, sorbitol, xylitol Cereal and grain foods: bran (from wheat, rye, or barley); bread (from wheat, rye, or barley); breakfast cereals, granolas, and muesli (from wheat, rye, or barley); crackers (from wheat or rye); pasta, including couscous and gnocchi (from wheat); wheat noodles (chow mein, udon, etc.) Drinks: chamomile and fennel tea, chicory-based coffee substitutes, juices made from unsuitable fruits (below) Fruits: apples, apricots, Asian pears, blackberries, boysenberries, cherries, figs, mangoes, nectarines, peaches, pears, persimmons, plums, prunes, tamarillos, watermelon, white peaches Legumes: beans (all kinds, including certain forms of soy, such as textured vegetable protein/TVP), chickpeas, lentils Milk and milk products: custard, ice cream, milk (cow’s, goat’s, and sheep’s, including whole, low-fat, skim, evaporated, and condensed), pudding, soft cheeses, yogurt (cow’s, sheep’s, or goat’s) Nuts: cashews, pistachios Vegetables: artichokes (globe and Jerusalem), asparagus, cauliflower, garlic (and garlic powder in large amounts), leeks, mushrooms, onions (red, white, yellow, and onion powder), scallions (white part), shallots, snow peas, sugar snap peas

Elvis Pie Named for the famous crooner’s love of peanut butter and bananas, this decadent dessert is as filling as it is delicious. Serve in small slices, and top with shredded coconut for even more fun.   Difficulty Level: 1 Preparation Time: 30 minutes Yields: 12 servings   Ingredients          8 oz. chocolate cookies          4 Tblsp butter, melted          4 oz. semisweet chocolate chips          2 bananas, sliced thinly          1 cup heavy cream          8 oz. cream cheese          1 cup creamy peanut butter          1 cup powdered sugar          14 oz. sweetened condensed milk          1 tsp vanilla extract          1 tsp lemon juice   1.        In a food processor, grind cookies into fine crumbs. 2.       Combine melted butter and cookie crumbs in a small bowl, and stir with a fork to mix well. 3.       Press mixture into the bottom and 1” up the sides of 9” pie tin. 4.      In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the chocolate chips, stirring often to prevent burning. 5.       Pour melted chocolate over bottom of cookie crust and spread to the edges using a spatula. 6.       Layer banana slices over the melted chocolate. 7.       Place pan in the refrigerator to chill. 8.      Meanwhile, beat heavy cream until stiff peaks form. 9.       Chill in refrigerator until ready to use. 10.    Beat together the cream cheese and peanut butter until light and fluffy. 11.     Stir in powdered sugar until fully incorporated. 12.    Mix in the sweetened condensed milk, vanilla extract, and lemon juice until filling is smooth. 13.    Fold the whipped cream into the filling mixture. 14.   Pour the filling into the prepared pie pan, smoothing top. 15.    Refrigerate for at least 3 hours, preferably overnight. 16.    Serve chilled.

In heeding the summons to help Soviet Russia, he laid down two conditions: that American relief personnel be allowed to operate independently, and that U.S. citizens in Soviet prisons be released. Lenin cursed Hoover and acceded. In a monumental triumph of philanthropy and organization, Hoover mustered more than $60 million worth of foreign food support, primarily in the form of corn, wheat seeds, condensed milk, and sugar, much of it donated by the United States Congress, some of it paid for by the Soviet regime with scarce hard currency and gold (melted down from confiscated church objects and other valuables). Employing 300 field agents who engaged up to 100,000 Soviet helpers at 19,000 field kitchens, the ARA at its height fed nearly 11 million people daily.180 Gorky wrote to Hoover that “your help will enter history as a unique, gigantic achievement, worthy of the greatest glory, which will long remain in the memory of millions of Russians . . . whom you have saved from death.

Seven Layer Cookie Bars This is a recipe that my best friend Rose’s Mom used to make as a treat.  It’s an oldie but goodie. Ingredients 1/2 cup unsalted butter 2 cups Graham crackers 1 can (14 ounces) sweetened condensed milk 6 ounces butterscotch chips 6 ounces chocolate chips 3 1/2 ounces flaked coconut 1 cup chopped pecans

With his usual sardonic humour, Trotsky evoked, not the awesome solemnity of the pyramids, but the incongruous spectacle of Chicago meat-packers, provincial senators and manufacturers of condensed milk lecturing a Prime Minister of France, a British Foreign Secretary or an Italian dictator about the virtues of disarmament and world peace. These were the uncouth heralds of America’s drive toward ‘world hegemony’ with its internationalist ethos of peace, progress and profit.

at eleven o’clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, ‘Honey or condensed milk with your bread?’ he was so excited that he said, ‘Both,’ and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, ‘But don’t bother about the bread, please.’ And for a long time after that he said nothing … until at last, humming to himself in a rather sticky voice, he got up, shook Rabbit lovingly by the paw, and said that he must be going on.

It was July, and we'd ordered patbingsu to share to stave off the humidity. This rendition was far more elaborate than the homespun efforts of my childhood, its base a perfect soft powder of snow slathered in sweet red beans and garnished with pristinely cut strawberries, perfect squares of ripe mango, and little cushions of multicolored rice cakes. A fine web of condensed milk drizzled over the sides, and vanilla soft serve towered high on top.

THE FIRST AND FUNDAMENTAL principle of traditional diets is that they contained no industrially processed or refined food. In Dr. Price’s day, the list of processed food ingredients included white sugar, white flour, canned condensed milk, canned foods and—just coming on the market—industrial seed oils made from cottonseed and corn.

Or maybe I should say a few things that I “like like” In that same way that in the 7th grade I knew That there was a difference between how to like a sandwich And how I like liked Katie Elbin’s pale blonde pigtails. So..I like like Vietnamese Coffee and the long wait for it to drip Drops down into my clear glass coffee mug with penguins on it. I like like that the penguins playfully dance as the black of my coffee Meets the creaminess of condensed milk. I like like the way that Gatsby read when I was twelve And thought that Romanticism and the early twenties Would be as romantic in my early twenties. As if a field of daisies would be the same as the field of Daisy’s. However, I like like the melancholic tone of my chemicals as well When they become overly emotive. Haven’t you heard the news that we’re dead? Wouldn’t it be grand to go exactly as we planned? I like like wondering if wandering is a wanderlust Or just a wanderlust? I think this was address by a Tribe Called Quest But I’ve lost just who it is whom I was promised I could trust. I like like driving with a GPS Not playing it too close to the chest Or relying on all the Redbull and Slim Jim’s Which my passenger-self digests. And I like like a gentle sadness like a reminder I can feel The realizations that this is all just so ever gosh golly really real That my dream board has visions of what I can do And that what absolutely matters is only relatively true.

pink roses. ‘Milk?’ Isaac held a tin of condensed milk above her cup. She shook her head. ‘I’ll have it black.’ ‘Isaac. Let us have a drop of rum in our tea. Let’s drink a toast to the king, both him who has passed and him who inherits the crown.’ A teaspoonful of rum was added to each cup. A slight movement drew Jenny’s attention back to the wall. The cockroach had fallen to the floor. The cat ate it.

…Your mother swears you were sleeping through the night by your second month, but she was feeding you some god-awful concoction of Karo syrup and condensed milk. That’s got to be enough calories to stun an ox, let alone an eight-week-old.” “I’ve seen pictures. I looked like a prize porker headed for the Washington County Fair.

French imported salmon, green peas, and sardines were thought to be more appetizing than American goods such as canned condensed milk, meats, oysters, and vegetables.

On Saturday morning, he'd chosen his favorite place in Taipei to show me, Chung-shan Park. We wandered on a beautiful walking path around a lake with spraying fountains, surrounded by trees, and under the shadow of Taipei's iconic skyscraper, which was called Taipei 101. It was a great place for people-watching, with young couples on romantic walks, parents pushing babies in strollers, older people practicing tai chi, kids riding bikes, and nature lovers snapping photos of flowers. Best of all were the baobing- delicious shaved ices with a super-thin texture and condensed milk that added an extra sweet flavor. I topped my baobing with mango chunks, while Uncle Masa chose sweet potato chunks on his, an addition I never imagined could be delicious until I sampled his for myself.

My parents had to work on most weekends, and thus were infrequent visitors to Admiral Farragut Academy. However, on those Sundays when they could come, my mother would bring a cake and some cookies from the bakery. Of course, the cookies and the cake were past their prime, but that was just the way I liked them. I really don’t know how happy my parents were to see me since most of the time they were there; they would talk to my teachers in conference, and then tell me all the things I had supposedly done wrong. Sadly, I would always wind up with a lecture on how bad I had been and what was expected of me. It was something I had grown to expect, but more importantly, I was grateful for the cake and pastries. I have no idea why, but they also brought me cans of condensed milk. I can only guess that they believed that the thick syrupy milk, super saturated with sweet, sweet, sugar, would give me the energy I needed to think better. After one such visit, I made the mistake of leaving my cake unattended. It didn’t take long before it grew legs and ran off. I couldn’t believe that one of my schoolmates would steal my cake, not at a Naval Honor School! Nevertheless, not being able to determine who the villains were, I hatched a plan to catch the culprits the next time around. Some months later when my parents returned to check on my progress, my mother brought me a beautiful double-layer chocolate cake. This time I was ready, having bought all the Ex-Lax the pharmacy in Toms River had on hand. Using a hot plate, I heated the Ex-Lax until it liquefied, and then poured the sticky brown substance all over the cake in a most decorative way. With that, I placed the cake on my desk and invitingly left the door open to my dorm room. I wasn’t away long before this cake also grew legs, and, lo and behold, it also disappeared. The expected happened, and somewhat later I found the culprits in the boys’ bathroom, having a miserable time of it. Laughingly, I identified them as the culprits, but didn’t turn them in. It was enough that I caught them with their pants down!

blackstrap molasses, wild clover honey, corn syrup, aged balsamic vinegar, apple butter, strawberry jam, caramel sauce, maple syrup, butterscotch topping, maraschino liqueur, virgin and extra-virgin olive oil, lemon curd, dried apricots, mango chutney, crema di noci, tamarind paste, hot mustard, marshmallows, creamed corn, peanut butter, grape preserves, salt water taffy, condensed milk, pumpkin pie filling, and glue.

God, was this place always so tiny?” Genevieve says to no one in particular. “Or did we all just get really big?” She laughs. “Except you, Lara Jean. You’re still itty-bitty procket-sized.” She says it sweetly. Like sweetened condensed milk. Sweet and condescending. Poured on super thick. I play along: I smile. I won’t let her get a rise out of me. John rolls his eyes. “Same old Gen.” He says it dryly, with weary affection, and she smiles her cute wrinkly-nose smile at him like he’s paid her a compliment. But then he looks at me and raises one sardonic eyebrow, and I feel better about everything, just like that.

When I was growing up, the taste of pancakes meant the kind that my great-uncle made for me from Bisquick. If condensed cream of mushroom soup was the Great Assimilator, then this "instant" baking mix was the American Dream. With it, we could do anything. Biscuits, waffles, coffee cakes, muffins, dumplings, and the list continues to grow even now in a brightly lit test kitchen full of optimism. My great-uncle used Bisquick for only one purpose, which was to make pancakes, but he liked knowing that the possibilities, the sweet and the savory, were all in that cheery yellow box. Baby Harper wasn't a fat man, but he ate like a fat man. His idea of an afternoon snack was a stack of pancakes, piled three high. After dancing together, Baby Harper and I would go into his kitchen, where he would make the dream happen. He ate his pancakes with butter and Log Cabin syrup, and I ate my one pancake plain, each bite a fluffy amalgam of dried milk and vanillin. A chemical stand-in for vanilla extract, vanillin was the cheap perfume of all the instant, industrialized baked goods of my childhood. I recognized its signature note in all the cookies that DeAnne brought home from the supermarket: Nilla Wafers, Chips Ahoy!, Lorna Doones. I loved them all. They belonged, it seemed to me, to the same family, baked by the same faceless mother or grandmother in the back of our local Piggly Wiggly supermarket. The first time that I tasted pancakes made from scratch was in 1990, when Leo, a.k.a. the parsnip, made them for me. We had just begun dating, and homemade pancakes was the ace up his sleeve. He shook buttermilk. He melted butter. He grated lemon zest. There was even a spoonful of pure vanilla extract. I couldn't bring myself to call what he made for us "pancakes." There were no similarities between those delicate disks and what my great-uncle and I had shared so often in the middle of the afternoon.

On Thursdays, they come here for the best palomas in town, thanks to my substitution of Jamaican tangelos and blood limes for the traditional grapefruit. And on Fridays, they come for half-price pork carnitas, legendary thanks to my addition of sweetened condensed milk, which caramelizes the meat with a sweet coating.

9" graham cracker or cookie shell 2 14-ounce cans sweetened condensed milk 1¼ cups fresh lemon juice 2 tablespoons finely grated lemon zest 8 large egg yolks Sweetened whipped cream for topping Lemon slices for garnish In a medium bowl, whisk the condensed milk with the lemon juice. In a separate medium bowl, beat the egg yolks and lemon zest until pale. Gradually add the condensed milk mixture, beating until smooth. Pour the filling into the shell. Bake at 325º for 25 minutes, until the edges are set and the center jiggles only slightly. Chill for at least six hours, preferably overnight. Top with sweetened whipped cream and garnish with lemon slices. For easy cutting, use a hot knife.

Wonder Cookie Bars Recipe Ingredients 1-1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs ½ cup melted butter 1 (14 oz) can of sweetened condensed milk 2 cups (12 oz package) semi-sweet chocolate chips or butterscotch chips 1-1/3 cup flaked coconut 1 cup chopped walnut or pecans Directions Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat a 13x9 inch glass baking dish with no-stick cooking spray Mix graham cracker crumbs and melted butter.  Press into the bottom of the greased baking dish. Pour sweetened condensed milk over top of graham cracker mixture, making sure to cover evenly. Sprinkle chocolate chips over graham cracker crust. Sprinkle coconut over chocolate chips.

Such shock is both disabling and enlivening; everything before was a mistake. We will do it differently; we'll repent. Consume less, conserve more, make sense of our punishment. It's been said the virus reached levels of superiority other pathogens never have. Like the vastation of ice ages, and condensed gene pools, language, blood and milk, it will evolve us. Of course, the old ways return. Our substance is the same, even with improving agents. We are our worst tendencies. We remain in our cast.

Honey or condensed milk with your bread?" he was so excited that he said, "Both," and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, "But don't bother about the bread, please.

What is this?” Lan asked. “A sandwich. How’s the coffee?” Lan sipped the coffee. She paused. Of course she knew what coffee was. But she had never tasted Vietnamese drip coffee with condensed milk. Lan looked about her at the happy customers. They seemed so different from the ones who were now coming to Starrgate. Why was this different from the donuts at the shop? And why did sipping a sweet Vietnamese coffee —why did that make her heart skip? A sandwich that is more than a sandwich. Coffee that is more than coffee.

The faerie's creamery was not too deep, happily, or at least it did not feel so; a chimneylike skylight cut into the stone roof admitted the warm gold-green light of the forest. Given the faerie's size, the workspace was expansive--- even Wendell, the tallest among us, did not need to duck--- with a hard-packed earthen floor and an array of shelves, some of which held blocks of butter wrapped in paper and twine. In the middle of the workshop was the butter churn, beside which was a tin bucket of milk with condensation forming on the side--- which I think is what the faerie had been worrying about, for she immediately rushed over to it and carried it into her cellar. The air was cool, on the edge of cold, and the smell of the place made my mouth water. Not only of butter, but thyme and lavender, strawberries and honey, which the faerie used to flavor some of the blocks. Those on the nearest shelf had leaves tucked beneath the twine--- basil, I think.