Bethesda, MD, was still recovering from the giant snowstorms of the previous weeks, with sidestreets lined with cars that nobody had bothered digging out from the packed snow thrown up by the plows. That Monday of the conference was chill and rainy and thoroughly miserable (as I found later that day, when I missed a shuttle bus back to my hotel by moments and waited 25 minutes for the next one to arrive, having only a sport coat to break the cold). The good news is that the NI thoughtfully held the conference in a building containing a major cafeteria. The bad news - or at least the comical news - occurred just as the entire conference descended on the cafeteria only to find that the last tray had been scarfed by the NIH's normal inhabitants. The distinguished group balancing plates, soup bowls, bottles, and silverware on top of briefcases, purses, and coats looked more like extras from a Laurel and Hardy movie.
I managed to snag the last seat at a crowded table of the large Lactaid contingent plus Alan Kligerman. We had a mutual admirefest (I have fans, who knew?) and the conversation was lively, if heavy on shoptalk.
Since none of the questions I asked in any of the discussion periods had been answered (nobody has any idea of the duration, rate, or variation of the time it takes to lose lactase production, e.g.) I thought I'd try a more practical question given the expertise I had on hand.
I've been asked multiple times why no lactose-free powdered milk is available to consumers. Alan said that it simply doesn't work. When lactose-free milk is dried, the result is brown, smelly, and bad-tasting.
What likes heat? Chocolate. All the Lactaid people agreed that the chocolate milk Alan had created was one of their best-tasting products, because chocolate loves heat.
So next time you each for a lactose-free carton of milk, try the chocolate. It has approval from on high.
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