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Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

KaiNovember 16, 2023

Remember when New Zealand lost its collective shit over chocolate milk?

Image: Archi Banal
Image: Archi Banal

Where were you when our insatiable thirst for a new dairy product brought the country to its knees?

This story was first published in 2019

Think back, for a moment, to October 2014. What were you doing? Some occurrences of note for context: the National government had just returned to power for a third term. The ebola epidemic had reached America. Lorde had her first stadium concert tour of New Zealand. Oscar Pistorius was sentenced to five years in prison for killing Reeva Steenkamp. Meghan Trainor’s ‘All About That Bass’ was dominating the charts. Alex Casey bid a fond farewell to retiring weatherman Jim Hickey on a brand-spanking-new website called The Spinoff.

Admit it: you know what you were doing back then. You were, in all probability, in the grips of a chocolate milk-fuelled frenzy. A dairy-driven mania. You were absolutely frothing over a sweet brown liquid in a plastic bottle. 

It was in 2014 that Lewis Road Creamery’s chocolate milk first hit the shelves and the population of New Zealand (or the North Island, at least) officially lost its shit. 

Until that point, the company was well known in posho artisan food circles, mostly for its butters, but hardly a household name. That was all to change when it teamed up with a company that was – good old Whittaker’s.

The first bottles of Lewis Road Creamery Fresh Chocolate Milk, made with Whittaker’s 5 roll creamy milk chocolate, appeared at the end of September, with samples sent out to media (these were the halcyon days before influencers were really a thing, so we food hacks did pretty well out of the PR campaigns) on Thursday the 25th. They were duly drunk and ‘grammed:

It was delicious, no doubt about that, but we could never have anticipated what was to come. The milk went on sale on Tuesday, 30 September, only at Moore Wilson’s in Wellington and selected Farro stores in Auckland. Initial production was 1000 litres a week, and all stores quickly sold out of both 750ml and 300ml bottles (which were priced at $6.49 and $3.69 respectively). Every day more arrived, and every day it disappeared in a flash. 

Measured responses all round

The year before, the cronut craze had swept New York and, as Ben Fahy wrote on Stop Press at the time, scarcity can be a great strategy to intensify demand. Lewis Road Creamery founder Peter Cullinane, a former advertising bigwig, has always denied the company engineered the shortage deliberately, but hell, it makes you think. They spent just $20,000 on advertising – a pittance in ad terms – and there was not a single TV commercial.

Absolute scenes at Moore Wilson’s

It certainly seemed to work for the Lewis Road Creamery chocolate milk. Chelsea Winter said she would step over her aunt to get some (a claim that poses many questions, not least the nature of her aunt’s proximity to the ground at the time of said stepping over and how she got there).

The roads were clogged by milk fiends on wheels, pursuing their dairy prize like people possessed. Folk outside of Auckland and Wellington begged to know when it would make it to the regions.

Finally, on Wednesday, 8 October, the milk launched in selected New World and Countdown stores in the North Island, and shit got real. Production was soon at 24,000 litres a week, then 30,000 litres a week, then 31,000, and Lewis Road Creamery began posting daily updates of which stores were getting deliveries to pre-empt the increasingly desperate pleas. Queues were commonplace. Purchase limits were enforced. Bottles were nicked from trolleys. Security guards were put in place to monitor fridges. 

The social media supplication became increasingly desperate, and Lewis Road Creamery struggled to keep up.

The thirst of the people was insatiable

Somebody started a Facebook page of not very good LRCCM-related memes. Someone else got some very good nail art.

Some people, including famous musicians, gave up trying to get their hands on some and took the DIY approach.

While others, shockingly, turned to the black market, with bottles turning up on TradeMe for inflated prices. Counterfeit versions allegedly appeared in dairies, which Lewis Road Creamery promised to investigate, and schoolyards.

Two alleged fakes

The madness continued, and, perhaps inevitably, the rest of the world began to take an interest in what those kooky Kiwis were up to this time. “There’s a chocolate milk shortage in New Zealand and people are going crazy”, was the Daily Mail headline. “New Zealand is running out of chocolate milk and people are going insane”, was Buzzfeed‘s take.

It was hard not to feel just a wee bit proud of our batshit little nation.

What happened next? Well, Lewis Road Creamery Fresh Chocolate Milk finally made it to the South Island in September 2015 – nearly a full year after it first hit shelves in the north. A second milk-processing facility at Lewis Road’s milk partner Green Valley Dairies, at Mangatawhiri in Waikato, had allowed production to increase, and at the same time the company released two new flavours – vanilla and coffee. You can now get LRC choc milk whenever you like, and a whole bunch of other flavours too. There are no queues, there are no frenzies – or at least any that I can find documented on social media.

So, readers, what can we learn from the Great Chocolate Milk Frenzy of 2015? Perhaps that 2015 was a simpler time, a purer time. Or perhaps, as one kind commenter on the Buzzfeed story suggested at the time, we’re a bunch of selfish morons. Who is to say.

 

Keep going!
Image: Getty Images; design Archi Banal
Image: Getty Images; design Archi Banal

KaiNovember 13, 2023

PSA: Chai latte is not chai

Image: Getty Images; design Archi Banal
Image: Getty Images; design Archi Banal

Don’t be fooled by the unnaturally sweet, cinnamony, disappointingly one-dimensional drink that is chai’s namesake – it’s an impostor, writes Perzen Patel.

The first Saturday we moved into our new home, I went to my bare-ish backyard and plucked out the ornamental shrub the builder had planted. 

When the soil was loose, I dug six tiny holes and planted the six root cuttings of mint I had taken from Mum’s garden, patting them lovingly into place. Four years in, my herb garden has less of a mint plant and more of a mint “situation”. Sprigs of mint popping up near my thyme, rosemary, lemon and curry leaf as if it’s reminding me that I must add mint everywhere.

New sprigs of mint taking over all the other herbs! I couldn’t be happier. An endless amount of fresh, peppery mint to brew into my tea is what my chai dreams are made of. 

My mum’s backyard has a mint situation too. But that’s not what her chai dreams are made of. Whenever I go to her home – around the block from my place – I’ll find small bowls half-filled with either pieces of ginger or thick ginger peels. She’s one of those people who loves ginger everywhere – in her chai, in her juice and even in her cake!

For Mum, chai is not chai without ginger’s warm, spicy notes. And, while I love Mum’s gingery brew, no potluck at my house is complete without a request that my friend, Farzu, make us some chai. The request comes partly as an excuse to extend the fun a while longer but mostly because we love the heavy-on-lemongrass brew Farzu volunteers to make for us. 

But none of those chais will do on a cold, rainy evening. On those evenings, my Pavlovian brain forces me to indulge in hot, freshly fried bread pakora and only a chai laced with smoky green cardamom will do.

I’ve had thousands of cups of chai since I started drinking it when I was nine-ish. Sweet, diluted and milky when I was introduced to it as a girl. From a tea bag with dried mint leaves from the fridge during midnight study sessions. Spicy and earthy at a Dhaba stop in Punjab. Sickeningly sweet, with a hint of cardamom, from the chai-walla at my first job in India.

A chai-walla in New Delhi (Photo: Eye Ubiquitous/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)

My favourite version? Minty, smoky, gingery and strong – the brew Mum makes for me when she senses I’m in need of some TLC. Her love, bottled up for me, in a hot steel flask.

And not one of them has ever tasted like a chai latte. Dial an Indian, and they’ll tell you that the unnaturally sweet, cinnamony, disappointingly one-dimensional drink that is chai’s namesake is an impostor.  Let’s call the drink a cinnamon latte, and I have no problems. It’s a perfectly nice drink, even with its syrupy after-taste. But calling it chai latte gets my hackles up.

Because chai latte is to chai what the radioactive orange butter chicken served at takeaways is to Delhi’s murgh makhani (the OG name for butter chicken). A weak, diluted counterpart.

I’ve learned that a good cup of chai is much like a pepeha. I’ve spent the last few years educating myself more on te ao Māori and one of the traditions I’ve adopted is to introduce myself with a pepeha. In the same way that a pepeha is used to establish connection and community, an offer to share a cup of chai is used to tell you a bit more about me.

Where I come from, the flavours that are important to me, the intention I’m putting into our relationship. Are you a friend for whom a teabag tea will do? Should I impress you by going out into my windy backyard and plucking out some mint? Or, do I love you enough to brew you chai from scratch in my aluminium chai kettle? 

I’m not trying to latte shame but chai latte, in contrast, only tells me one thing about you. That you’d rather not drink coffee.

The Indian way is to offer chai to anyone. At any time. Whether that’s morning, afternoon or twilight. Preferably, as soon as they enter your house/shop/office. It doesn’t matter if you’ve already had two cups. Chai is a ritual. A way to say, “You’re welcome here”. Or, “Stay a bit longer, won’t you”.

A tea shop in Varanasi (Photo: Marji Lang/LightRocket via Getty Images)

How to make masala chai at home

Ingredients (for 2)

Chai

  • 2½ cups water
  • 2 teaspoons chai masala (recipe below, or readymade)
  • optional: 5-6 mint leaves, 7-10cm piece lemongrass
  • 2 teaspoons good-quality black tea powder or 2 tea bags
  • milk (to your liking)
  • sugar (to your liking)

Chai masala

  • 4 green cardamom pods
  • 2 cloves
  • 2 peppercorns
  • 1 thick slice fresh ginger
  • 1-2cm piece cinnamon/cassia bark

Using a mortar and pestle or coffee grinder, make your chai masala. You can buy a readymade chai masala or multiply the quantities given here and make a bulk lot.

Add the water to a saucepan and bring it to a simmer. Mix in the chai masala, mint and lemongrass (if using). The chai masala ratio varies – I tend to go with 1 teaspoon: 1 cup water but you can also tone it down. 

Allow the water to come to a rolling boil. At this point, turn the heat down to medium and add in your tea, milk and sugar.

Bring the mixture to a second boil. 

Strain into teacups and enjoy with some hot snacks or crumbly biscuits.

Notes:

  • If you boil the tea for too long it will turn bitter.
  • The strength of your tea depends on when you add it and whether you’re making your tea with milk or water.
  • Tea powder is concentrated. If you’re using loose leaf assam tea, increase the quantity you add in.
  • Wagh Bakri, Society Tea and Tata Gold are my favourite Indian tea powder brands and widely available in Indian food stores.
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