The Lactose Conspiracy

My body is so confusing. In my early 20's, I had finally grown into the lactose intolerance my father had bestowed upon me. Since that time, I have had quasi-violent reactions to cheese, milk, and my ultimate nemesis, ice cream. Consumption of these edibles led to severe stomach discomfort, distention, the most foul-smelling gas, and just general grief for myself and those around me. Lactaid, nut and soy milks, and coconut milk icecream had been my only friends. And yes, they don't taste like milk (which almost every dairy-phile I've met has reminded me of), but they grow on you to the point of actually LIKING them. Sure, I'd cheat now and again. The soothing coolness of sour cream on my tacos, the occasional thin layer of cream cheese on my bagel, all could be tolerated with minor consequences. But when the waitress forgot that there was a ½ cup of cream in my cup of soup, then all kinds of hell would be unleashed. Until Germany...

Don't ask me how this happened. As a matter of necessity and custom, I have been sneaking cheese into my meals all week. I think most of the basic German diet hasn't changed since the 1500's... bread, meat, and cheese are present at almost every meal. The small towns that were our pitstops along the hiking path rarely had a pharmacy, and if it did, it certainly didn't have enzymes for sale. But oddly enough, I had NO side-effects. None. And given, usually most of my attention was keenly focused on the blisters on my feet and the weight on my shoulders, but lactose intolerance, at its fullest “expression”, can hardly be ignored. Each day, I continued to test my lac-tolerance... cream in my coffee, a little whip cream on my sweetie dessert, and then my nemesis. I had an ice cream cone. Don't get me wrong, it's not as though I went out and inhaled the biggest sundae I could find. Just a baby cone, less than a Euro, a single micro scoop. And I survived!!! No discomfort, no distension, none of the usual suspects. Maybe it's the autumn air, or returning to the country from which most of my family genetics stems. Or maybe there's something in the beer. In any case, it's a mystery I'm fine with never solving.