Lately I've spent some time thinking about cows and milk.

I know that sort of thing (and God knows what else) goes on all the time in places like Wisconsin, but it's been years since I'd contemplated the dairy in my life. Thanks to the weed-like growth of daughter and son, I've been making seemingly round-the-clock trips to the store for milk. Our refrigerator can't begin to hold the quantity apparently necessary to quench their thirst. I picture vast herds of cows being milked around the clock to keep the milk coming. With such a steady supply, I fear they'll keep growing, carp-like, until their heads poke through the roof.

May not.

I know first-hand how much milk one cow can produce. My parents, probably close to financial ruin from the milk consumption of eight kids,

purchased a slightly cranky Guernsey cow prophetically named Jinx. This was a cow with machine-like capability. Like clockwork, every day she would convert a few gallons of water, a bucket of feed and half a bale of hay into milk enough for a small nation. Demand fell behind production almost immediately, forcing ever more creative uses for the excess. By the end of the first week, our mom was churning out her own butter, cream, ice cream and - this is pure speculation - slipping us buttermilk meatloaf and cheese curd sugar cookies. Fortunately, we kids ate with the culinary discernment of starving dogs, suffering occasional stab wounds vying for the last scraps of anything (except stewed tomatoes - even starving dogs draw the line somewhere) put in front of us.

This isn't to say my mom's cooking skills were lacking, far from it. It's just hard to concentrate on flavor nuances while trading under-the-table punches with hungry siblings.

I don't drink much milk anymore - my scars tingle whenever I touch the carton - so I look for other calcium sources. Imagine my surprise (and brief flashback) when I spied a cow staring at me from a six-pack of milk stout from Left Hand Brewing in the aisle at Cedar Falls HyVee Wine and Spirits.

The health benefit in good beer doesn't need any further boost, but maybe I could count it as a dietary supplement.

"Milk" in milk stout refers to lactose, an un-fermentable sugar derived from milk, added for sweetness and body during brewing. According to my copy of Michael Jackson's (not that Michael Jackson!) compact and outstanding 2007 book, "Beer," British law actually prohibits use of the term milk stout on grounds that it implies a health benefit not actually present.

It may do nothing for my calcium intake, but milk works subtle magic on the flavor in this brew, enhancing the deep malt and dark coffee and cherry flavors that first greet nose and palate. The sweetness helps those same flavors cling for a lingering, very pleasant finish , masking some of the smoky, bitter aftertaste I associate with some drier stouts. There's just enough hops presence to prevent the sweet from being cloying. Un-fermentable sugars don't affect the alcohol content, keeping it to a moderate 5.2 ABV - enough to round out the flavor with a touch of warmth, but not have you snoring on the couch. Smooth and creamy, with a satisfyingly dense body and complexity of flavor, it can stand alone as dessert or provide fine accompaniment.

I might need to a cow of my own. There could be national, even international implications: My ceaseless milk runs would end, in one stroke halting our country's dependence on foreign oil and reversing global warming. The kids would have an endless supply of milk to fuel their growth, good exercise milking the cow and chasing her when she escapes the pasture (and cows always escape their pasture) and an introduction to dairy-fusion cuisine.

Finally, Left Hand Brewing could have the remaining 483 gallons-per-week, thus ensuring a perpetual and welcome supply of milk stout.

Prost!