Once upon a mid-day sunny, while I savored Nuts 'N Honey,
With my Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 gal, 128 fl. oz., I swore
As I went on with my lapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the icebox door.
'Bad condensor, that,' I muttered, 'vibrating the icebox door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Not to sound like a complainer, but, in an inept half-gainer,
I provoked my bowl to tip and spill its contents on the floor.
Stupefied, I came to muddle over that increasing puddle,
Burgeoning deluge of that which I at present do adore -
Snowy Tuscan wholesomeness exclusively produced offshore -
Purg'ed here for evermore.
And the pool so white and silky, filled me with a sense of milky
Ardor of the type fantastic of a loss not known before,
So that now, to still the throbbing of my heart, while gently sobbing,
I retreated, heading straightway for the tempting icebox door -
Heedless of that pitter-patter tapping at the icebox door -
I resolved to have some more.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'This,' said I, 'requires an extra dram of milk, my favorite pour.'
To the icebox I aspired, motivated to admire
How its avocado pigment complemented my decor.
Then I grasped its woodgrain handle - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams of Tuscans I had known before
But the light inside was broken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only words there spoken were my whispered words, 'No more!'
Coke and beer, some ketchup I set eyes on, and an apple core -
Merely this and nothing more.
Back toward the table turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
From the window came a stirring, then, with an incessant purring,
Inside stepped a kitten; mannerlessly did she me ignore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of lord or lady, withdrew to my dining floor -
Pounced upon the pool of Tuscan spreading o'er my dining floor -
Licked, and lapped, and supped some more.
Then this tiny cat beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grand enthusiasm of the countenance she wore,
Toward the mess she showed no pity, 'til I said, 'Well, hello, kitty!'
Sought she me with pretty eyes that seemed to open some rapport.
So I pleaded, 'Tell me, tell me what it is that you implore!'
Quoth the kitten, 'Get some more.'
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After a long hard week full of days he would burst through the door, his fatigue hidden behind a smile. There was an icy jug of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz in his right hand. With his left hand he would grip my waist - I was always cooking dinner - and press the cold frostiness of the jug against my arm as he kissed my cheek. I would jump, mostly to gratify him after a time, and smile lovingly at him. He was a good man, a wonderful husband who always brought the milk on Friday, Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz.
Then there was that Friday, the terrible Friday that would ruin every Friday for the rest of my life. The door opened, but there was no bouyant greeting - no cold jug against the back of my arm. There was no Tuscan Whole Milk in his right hand, nor his left. There came no kiss. I watched as he sat down in a kitchen chair to remove his shoes. He wore no fatigue, but also no smile. I didn't speak, but turned back to the beans I had been stirring. I stirred until most of their little shrivelled skins floated to the surface of the cloudy water. Something was wrong, but it was vague wrongness that no amount of hard thought could give shape to.
Over dinner that night I casually inserted,"What happened to the milk?"
"Oh,"he smiled sheepishly, glancing aside,"I guess I forgot today."
That was when I knew. He was tired of this life with me, tired of bringing home the Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz. He was probably shoveling funds into a secret bank account, looking at apartments in town, casting furtive glances at cashiers and secretaries and waitresses. That's when I knew it was over. Some time later he moved in with a cashier from the Food Mart down the street. And me? Well, I've gone soy.
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One should not be intimidated by Tuscan Whole Milk. Nor should one prejudge, despite the fact that Tuscan is non-vintage and comes in such large containers. Do not be fooled: this is not a jug milk. I always find it important to taste milk using high-quality stemware -- this is milk deserving of something better than a Flintstones plastic tumbler. One should pour just a small dollop and swirl it in the glass -- note the coating and look for clots or discoloration. And the color -- it should be opaque, and very, very white. Now, immerse your nose in the glass and take a whiff. Tuscan transports you instantly to scenic hill towns in central Italy (is that Montepulciano I detect?) --- there is the loamy clay, the green grass of summer days, the towering cypress. And those gentle hints of Italian flowers -- wild orchids, sunflowers, poppies. Then, one takes in the thick liquid and lets it roll across and under the tongue -- what is that? perhaps a hint of a nutty Edam cheese? With Tuscan, you feel the love of every dairyperson involved -- from the somewhat sad and deranged farmhand shovelling steaming cowpies to the bored union milk maiden dreaming of leaving this soul crushing life behind for a job waiting tables for obnoxious American tourists in Siena. But not too fast -- sip gently, slowly, or one is in danger of not only missing the subtleties of the milk's texture and its terroir, but -- if chilled too long -- also of giving oneself a blinding ice cream headache. Nay, savor the goodness that only dairymen and dairywomen working at the apex of their craft can deliver. Tuscan is best drunk young -- no, no, don't cellar this gem -- I guarantee you'll be sorry if you do. I recommend pairing with freshly baked macadamia nut scones. Milk Expectorator gives this one a 92.
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Online ordering of extremely perishable food is going to TAKE OFF when people realize how much fun and convenient the idea is. I got my milk just yesterday. Here are all the details!
Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz
$3.99 - Quantity: 1 - In Stock
Condition: new
Sold by: Gristedes Supermarkets of New York
I was considering buying used milk from a trusted Amazon reseller but decided against it. So you'll notice the condition of MY milk was "New." I deserve this luxury.
I toyed with the idea of second business day delivery but Amazon in its infinite wisdom limited me to "Expedited."
Shipping Method: Expedited
Here's the best part.
Order Summary
Items: $3.99
Shipping & Handling: $26.25
Total Before Tax: $30.24
Estimated Tax:* $0.00
Order Total: $30.24
Why go to my local store and pay $2.99 for a galon of milk when I can have it overnight delivered for 10 times that price? I think I'll get three gallons next time. As a current Pentagon employee, this makes perfect sense to me. You won't Be-Lieve the taste of 30 dollar milk. It just coats the tongue with layer upon layer of bovine extract luxury. Internet milk is soooo much more milkyliscious than crappy store bought. Next, I'll be checking out the $50 12 ounce hot coffee order. Catch the wave!
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This milk worked well when I first got it, but within a few days it wouldn't hold a charge. I called their customer service department and, I don't know if it's in Bangalor or Ireland, but I couldn't understand a word that they said and they began to scream at me.
Finally, though, they sent me another one - but that wouldn't hold a charge, either. I'm beginning to wonder if this is truly meant to be a portable product. I still haven't been able to retreive my email and the video is murky.
It's a bit heavy, too, to wear on your belt. The good news is that it keeps your hip cool during this sultry summer weather - for a while.
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I was friends with Tuscan Milk (aka - TM) for a long time and I'll always remember the good times - Frisbee golf in the park, picking up chicks in the 7-11 parking lot and watching horror movies were our favorite activities.
As we passed through our late teens and went to college, TM took off on a different path that would change our lives forever. I remember TM coming into class, eyes the size of pin points, sweating profusely and feverishly scratching his handle. TM started wearing long sleeve shirts, even in the middle of the summer and my friends and I, somewhat bewildered, became increasingly concerned.
Then one day, TM disappeared. Strangely, my car stereo, turntables and VCR were gone as well. We tried calling TM's cell phone, it was shut off. We tried TM's parents' house, they hadn't seen him either.
Noone heard from or saw TM for a year and a half until one day, my roommate Rinaldo paged me with '911' and I had a feeling I knew what it was about. I called Rinaldo and he excitedly told me about how he saw TM just a few miles away from our house and he was going to pick me up momentarily. I jumped in the car and Rinaldo turned off his stereo which had been pumping 'Pure Ecstasy - Trance Hits Volume 3' and then I knew things were serious. He loved that CD.
We descended the hill leading from our house to downtown and took a right turn into what was widely known as a very rough area rife with gangs, drug sales, prostitution and violent crime. I asked Rinaldo where we were going and he just looked at me, stone faced, and kept driving.
We made a left onto 15th street and gradually came to a stop. Rinaldo glanced over at me, then out his window and then I saw him. TM, leaning on a grocery cart full of bags of aluminum cans, his cap halfway off and label faded and torn, looking absolutely beat to death.
Rinaldo and I jumped out of the car and ran over to TM, who stared at us blankly and stood from leaning on the cart.
"Five dollars.", TM said. "Anything you want for five dollars."
Rinaldo and I looked at each other, confused, then focused back on TM. I reached in my pocket and pulled our five dollars, handing it to him.
"A'ight. Come with me.", TM said.
Rinaldo and I looked at each other and shrugged, then followed TM. He lead us down an alley way, where he looked over his shoulder at us, then leaned forward, his cap off, onto a dumpster. Rinaldo and I knew at that moment what things had come to for TM. He glared us while we stood there, shocked, and said "What? You not ready yet? Fine. I'll be right back."
TM replaced his cap and walked around the corner. Moments later we heard a ruckus following by the sound of a slight spill and we knew what had happened. Rinaldo and I waited a few minutes before walking around the corner, only to find TM lying on the ground, a 1/4 of the way spilled on the pavement, with a very small manilla envelope with 'NBA' stamped on it lying next to him.
We loaded TM into Rinaldo's car and took him to the Emergency Room where we waited for what seemed like days. Eventually, a doctor emerged from behind the ER doors only to tell us that TM, after struggling with a nurse, took off out the back door of the hospital.
That was the last time we saw TM.
Rinaldo and I arrived at home and decided to look TM up on our city's criminal offender database and were shocked at what we found. TM had been arrested over 3 dozen times in the last year and a half for everything ranging from drug possession, robbery, kidnapping and forgery to what shocked us the most - aggrivated sexual assault (see the customer images section for proof).
We looked at court documents for several of TM's cases and found that most of the time he was arrested after being found slumped against a building or in an alley, a needle sticking out of his handle, heavily under the influence of heroin.
It all made sense now. The eyes, the sweating, the scratching... the prostitution. It was clear at that point that TM would never be the jolly gallon of milk we once loved and cherished as a trusted and valued friend.
Upon finding TM here on Amazon, I felt it was necessary to warn you that TM is a dangerous, unpredictable individual who, as is clearly evident, is more than willing to sell himself...likely to support his heroin habit.
Rinaldo, myself and the rest of TM's old friends still care about him and don't want to hear about him on the news - overdosed or violently killed - so I ask you - please do not purchase Tuscan Milk. You are contributing to furthering the downfall of someone who was once a friendly, optimistic, bright white gallon of goodness.. but has since become a monster and threat to others and himself.
Don't buy Tuscan Milk. Please.
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I was in Tuscany recently, and despite my sincerest efforts was unable to sight any Tuscan Wholes. Given the rarity of this creature, I find it hard to believe that anyone one has managed to domesticate them, let alone convince them to give milk.
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