For every modern food craze, there’s some sort of historical antecedent. So while slurping down almond milk seems like a decidedly contemporary (and possibly environmentally deleterious trend, the practice actually has a long history, stretching back to the dark, dairy-deprived days of the Middle Ages and beyond. In a time before refrigeration and canning, when you needed to own a cow or live in close proximity to one to enjoy the benefits of lactose, plant milks served more than a niche purpose. Badam’ means ‘almond’ in Hindi, and it’s tempting to try and connect a drink like this to a long lineage of dairy substitutes in the famously cow-conscious country. Yet while I can confidently state that almond milk has at least some historical precedent here, cow milk does as well. In fact, the animal’s sacred status in Hinduism may have something to do with its necessity as a producer of milk and ghee. So while Badam Drink may exist in the same vein as something like Rooh Afza, a once-natural product usurped by a hastily manufactured shortcut version, it may also just be another unfamiliar soft drink from a country that loves its floral-scented sweets. MTR was founded in Bangalore in 1924, which again, tells us absolutely nothing about the provenance of this drink, even if they do seem to be the primary producer . My best guess is that mixture of almonds, saffron, rose and milk is an old one, a beat-the-heat concoction whipped up from sweet and fancy ingredients. I’m also guessing that it traditionally doesn’t include “toned milk,” an Indian-invented product that I’ll allow Wikipedia to describe in further detail. As for the drink itself, the presence of floating almond shards is discomfiting at first (I’m still not quite used to drinks with sizable chunks of stuff floating in them), but the artificial rose taste is nice and subtle, important since it’s about the only thing distinguishing this from Strawberry Nesquik This would probably make a weird but appropriate pairing with Chinese almond juice, which is less milky and sort of tastes like crushed almond cookies steeped in water. As for the packaging, I prefer the neutral tones and relaxed style of the Almond Juice, which doesn’t have to resort to lashing up a liquid froth storm to command our attention. It’s taste, and packaging, feel as sedate as a country tea house on a quiet autumn morning. Badam, on the other hand, fits perfectly into the Christmas season: loud, cloying and more than a little familiar, even if that familiarity feels strangely incomplete.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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