It was either the boxed milk off the store shelf, or this one -- the only one in the refrigerator section in the supermarket we went to in Bilbao today. Refrigerated equals fresh, or it should, and that's what children from the U.S. drown themselves in every day.
The pic on the box has a cow grazing in the pasture, so that's a start, right? And the word leche is in there, I think. But its written in Euskara, as are many things in Bilbao (which is part of the Pais Vasco) so I couldn't be sure. I took it because something in the toddler K's bottle is better than nothing once the grouchiness comes a knocking.
The toddler K chugged it down without a complaint, so guess we're good. I admit, I didn't try it because I don't like milk on its own -- never have -- so I can't even judge what the real thing tastes like.
This is parenting at its best! Let me tell you, when you travel especially international, your standards definitely shift. Which brings me to dinner tonight, in which we let the toddler K eat a bag of chips. That's it, just a bag of potato chips because that's what she wanted and I was too tired to care anymore.
She loved it, probably thinks I'm a goddess because of it, too. I should've just gone and topped it off with some Fanta Limon in her bottle.