When Oat Milk Quietly Became Just Milk

This morning, like most mornings, I kicked things off with a coffee.

My oat milk was almost empty, so I thought: later I’ll just make a fresh batch. (I use oat milk concentrate – because honestly, nothing’s sillier than shipping water around in bottles or boxes when it already comes out of the tap. And in Germany, tap water is excellent – and strictly controlled.)

I had to smile a bit about how much my habits have changed. For me, oat milk has become the default. And whenever I say “milk,” that’s what I mean. Cow’s milk, almond milk, soy milk? Those I’ll explicitly call out – and none of them really taste right to me anyway.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision – pretty much the same way I stopped eating meat more than 25 years ago, or the way I quit drinking alcohol. All three just happened, because at some point they didn’t feel right anymore.

Now I can only hope the same thing happens with chocolate and gummy bears.

P.S.: I really don’t want to get into debates about what is or isn’t “real milk.” Same for sunscreen or tubeless sealant being called “milk.”

Originally posted on LinkedIn.