Manna

I generally like to keep my God and my food separate. Except in the case of Communion wafers (God-implicit), bourbon, and bacon (both God-inspired), I prefer that my consumption remain a personal and patently nonreligious experience. While I admit to having recently eaten a chili dog waffle thing that inspired, momentarily, a hysterical blindness, I credit the chef’s ability more than I consider it the Lord and pig conspiring. Nonetheless, a trip through Wildersville, Tennessee, and a stop at the Rock Springs Dairy have completely changed my “separation anxiety.”

The Amish-owned dairy produces a buttermilk that has made a firm believer out of me, and a chocolate milk that could bring the Hatfields and McCoys to the table together. If it all isn’t quite enough, the “store” is down a lazy stretch of gravel road and has no attendant, no camera, no security guard.

When you arrive, you choose what you would like, do your math on a small pad, and deposit your payment into a slot in the top of a desk. It is inspiring, in a world that can seem otherwise devoid of trust and hope these days, particularly when the product is as good as it is.

So, if He is what it takes to inspire all of these elements to converge, then inject the Divine directly into everything I consume. Pull off the road next time you are in the neighborhood and treat yourself to some real chemical-free dairy. Just remember: If you consider shorting the kitty, God is watching.