Intolerance.

[Note: This was a piece originally written for a zine project that never got out of beta, much less alpha. I was cleaning up some files, stumbled on it, cleaned it up, and now present it to you in all its crappy glory.

Warning... this essay talks about bowel functions (and mis-functions) in graphic detail.]

It was a lovely Saturday in either late October or early November 1998 in Central Illinois. I probably spent the day puttering around the house, reading, watching television, and so forth. That afternoon, I was watching something mindless on TV when a commercial for Steak 'n Shake appeared.

For those unfamiliar, Steak 'n Shake is a southern and midwest-based restaurant that lies somewhere between "fast food" and "casual sit-down" in the hierarchy of food chains. It has a drive through window, but inside has table seating and waitstaff. It's fairly cheap, basic food – burgers, sandwiches, breakfasts, sad excuses for salads, pie, Cincinnati chili – but reliably average and never terrible.

Steak 'n Shake are especially known for their "hand dipped, real milk" milkshakes that contain actual dairy products and are made to order, as opposed to the pre-mixed chemical slurry available at a place like McDonald's.

Usually I am resistant to advertising, but after seeing that Steak 'n Shake commercial, I thought, "Hmmm... those milkshakes look really good. When was the last time I had a milkshake? I can't remember. It's been years. It's a nice day out, not too cold yet for the fall. And there's a Steak 'n Shake just a few blocks from here. Yeah, I think I'll go get a vanilla milkshake."

So I quickly drove to the Steak 'n Shake and pulled up to the drive-thru window. Looking over the menu, I found that a large shake was only about forty cents more than a medium. I couldn't pass up such a deal, now could I? (Gee, why are Americans so chunky?) I supersized, paid the meager amount, and then jammed the cold, large plastic container into the cup holder, where it barely fit. While I don't remember the exact size of the shake, it was probably at least 32 ounces of vanilla milk and ice cream goodness which should have served four people. Should have.

I've always been a "fast eater", which is a bad habit, unseemly, and unhealthy. I suspect my talent for speed eating developed from growing up with a family who (a) never wasted food (you ate it then or the next day as leftovers), and (b) had members who would yoink something off your plate if it appeared as if you weren't going to eat it. (I suppose "yoinking" from each others' plates at the dinner table is another habit that doesn't faze me, although I know plenty of people who find it stomach-turning, so I don't do that anymore. My family also has the habit of re-using the same plate for the entire meal, from main course to dessert. Really, I assure you, we are a civilized peoples.)

Obviously when I got home, I inhaled that shake, sucking the cup clean, draining the dregs of the frothy treat. I probably thought it was awesome at the time. After finishing, I set the cup aside and resettled on the couch for more loafing.

About twenty or so minutes later, strange sounds started emitting from my stomach. Really LOUD sounds, like hunger pains times ten. Or twenty. I figured it was just a reaction to the cold milkshake. I started getting flop sweats, the kind that happen just before all the liquid in your body decides it wants to make an emergency exit via your colon (i.e., diarrhea). Then the cramps came, worse than any menstrual cramp I'd had in my entire life. I curled up into a fetal position on the couch, ready to sprint to the bathroom at any moment.

As I felt the milkshake begin to come up my esophagus and down my intestines simultaneously, I grabbed for the first container within reach - the empty milkshake cup - and ran to the bathroom. While sitting on the toilet, not only did I test the limits of the fragile, decaying rental house plumbing, but also filled up the entire plastic cup - to the rim - with white, foamy, warm vomit.

It was not one of my better moments, rivaling bouts of epic stomach flu, and epic hangovers.

After cleaning myself up - a long shower, an epic tongue and teeth-brushing session, and a change of clothes - I flopped back down on the couch, completely wrung inside-out. I knew I would never drink a milkshake, a root beer float, hell, even a glass of milk, ever again. Not that I ever wanted to again.

Well, I figured out what caused my stomach problems, at least.

In the ten+ years since learning that I indeed have a lactose intolerance problem, I've learned how to work around it pretty well. Obviously, common lactose intolerance is much easier to manage than something like a celiac (wheat) sensitivity, or a severe food allergy that can kill if you accidentally brush up against a shrimp. Lactose intolerance is annoying, smelly and uncomfortable, but it's not going to kill me even if it does give me the runs so bad sometimes I'd rather die than deal with the anus-burning evacuation. I just have to be aware of what I'm eating, and to always remember to carry Lactaid tablets. Over they years, I've learned what to avoid completely, what I can eat in very small portions, and what doesn't bother my digestion at all.

Completely off-limits are cow's milk, ice cream, most cheeses, any cream-based sauce (e.g., alfredo, bechamel). Even with chewing three or four lactose tablets before eating cheese pizza, real baked macaroni and cheese, or anything with hot melted cheese, there's still a very good chance for a extreme "moment of human urgency" right after eating. Even if I don't get the runs right away, there's still cramping and farting, followed by expulsion later. I just consider each of these cases on an individual basis, and decide if the pain is worth the taste. For cold cereal - a big staple of my diet - I've substituted in vanilla soymilk, which works just fine and has no ill effects.

In the somewhat safe category are butter, a teaspoon of half-and-half in coffee, goat's milk ice cream, hard aged cheeses like Parmigiano-Reggiano, most yogurt, and cream cheese. Also, if milk is baked into something, like pancakes, that's fine. I've been told that good, quality, aged cheeses actually lose lactose during the aging process and shouldn't affect me, and I've found that to be true. It seems to be only the gross, fatty, melty cheap supermarket cheeses that twist my stomach in knots. I can't explain why I can eat cream cheese or cow's milk yogurt with no problems. I have tried soy yogurt and found it to be one of the most disgusting foodstuffs I've ever tried to eat - with its foul smell and runny texture, it resembles a cup full of bacterial infection. Soy cheese isn't much better. Maybe I just haven't found the right brands yet, but I think that soy is better suited to making tofu and its ilk.

I really don't miss dairy products much anymore. In fact, it kind of grosses me out now to see large amounts of gloppy melted cheese on pizza. Pizza isn't about the cheese, it's about the crust and the sauce. There's a place near work where we often go for slices, and they always have some sort of cheese-less pie with just sauce, tomatoes, and pesto available. I don't get ice cream cravings much anymore since the milkshake incident, but I can eat goat's milk ice cream with no problem. However, there seems to be only one brand (LaLoos) and two flavors (vanilla and chocolate) widely distributed. It's also expensive ($7 a pint), and only sold at Whole Paycheck.

About the only thing I really miss are milk-based coffee drinks like lattes. Although they can easily be made with soymilk, it's just not the same taste. I also often long for oatmeal made with milk, not water.

I've found that one of the largest problems of being lactose intolerant is actually the strange looks from servers when asking for "no cheese" on a burger or a sandwich. I get questioned even further if I order an omelet without cheese in it. Again, I'm not going to keel over and die if I happen to eat cheese, but I shouldn't be questioned for not wanting to eat it, and don't assume that I can just "take it off the sandwich" or "scrape it off". Sure, I could do that, but I don't want to have to do that. It's not as if I'm trying to order quesadillas without cheese, I just want them to leave off the slice on a burger or in a wrap.

The other inconvenience is always having to carry Lactaid tablets, which I often forget to do. I've started keeping some in the car, at work, and stuffed in various old Penguin mint tins along with Imodium and Tylenol. Even with all this planning, I never seem to have a tablet available when I most need it.

Courtney Love once famously declared, "If you're going to eat cheese, take it out on a picnic, cut it up carefully, and really taste it - with wine or something. Don't melt it on shit. And I lost FORTY POUNDS by not eating cheese. And I even ate a little mayonnaise. All right? Skip the butter and skip the cheese and you will lose weight. I swear to God... Don't eat cheese. There are a million things to eat that are not cheese."

I never realized how much American food is served covered with cheese until I had to avoid it. It's really rather gross. There's way too much cheese used on pizza, and melted on the faux crap that tries to pass itself off as "Mexican" cuisine. I don't want a huge piece of cheese with apple pie (or ice cream, either). My "taste" for cheese, milk, and other dairy products has completely disappeared, and I don't miss it much anymore. Plus, some of my favorite cuisines are largely dairy free: Vietnamese, Indian, "real" Mexican, and Japanese. The increase in vegan and Kosher menus (and, in some cases Vegan Kosher) provides more choices as well.

Courtney was right, there are - if not a million, at least many - other things to eat that are not cheese (or milk or ice cream or alfredo sauce). I just need to find them.