No, Virginia, it's not the same Ovaltine anymore

Yesterday, our second day of chilly, overcast weather, led me, nay, dragged me to the market to buy some Ovaltine. I'd had the idea the day before but it was after six and no place to buy it and it was raining anyway. So the idea was left to foment my desire for that peppled malty goodness that I hadn't tasted in, a rough guess, 30 years or more.


There it was, on the shelf. A big container (not looking like the above), bigger than I really wanted (because I really just wanted one warm cup of it, any container would have been too big), but after watching my hand quiver toward the shelf five or six times I grabbed the thing, bought it and headed home.


It sat there on the counter, a held off pleasure, because it was still early in the afternoon and I wanted to wait just a little longer, just to see if I could. I had this mad dog fear of opening it and dipping in a spoon and eating half of it in a rush of Ovaltine gluttony...a little mental discipline was obviously needed.

At last I was ready. Taking off the plastic lid and tearing back the foil sealing I was immediately stunned. Where were the pebbles? Where was the wafting aroma of malt? WHERE WAS MY OVALTINE??? I didn't dare taste it from the spoon because I wasn't ready to concede my memory and my reality were on a hard collision course. Into the pan went the milk and followed the Ovaltine. It warmed. Poured into the mug, I sipped. I sipped again. No. A travesty! This was not Ovaltine, this was some rogue imposter. And not a good one either. Think Nestle's Quick gone bad, if something with that many chemicals in it could ever go bad. Malt? I tasted no malt. I washed out the blighted mug and pan and put them away, staring malevolently at the doppleganger. It was time to do some research to see if I was going completely mad (yes, I did say completely rather than partially).

From the blog Notes on the Visual Arts and Popular Culture, another Ovaltine observation:

It’s interesting to note how Ovaltine progressed from a convalescent drink designed to bring relief to the weary colonial administrator, enervated by the exigencies of life in the tropics, to a soothing bedtime drink for the hard working Indian populace.

Wow. Who knew? I am so embarrassingly American, I had no idea where Ovaltine came from and it WASN'T America (hint: it didn't come from India either).


It only took a few seconds for Google to confirm my questioning senses. Ovaltine DID change its recipe, back in the seventies, when a part of its operations was sold. And guess who owns it in the US? Nestles! They say it's the same but...it's not. An ad that lies, go figure.

Where's my consolation prize NOW?

I found a wonderful blog called Pearl's Sentimental Journey that tells more about Ovaltine than I ever knew. She did a fantastic job with it, so why re-invent that wheel? The only difference is that she still likes Ovaltine and mine is going in the trash.

And it's not going in the trash because I don't want to wake up gay either
(but this certainly explains more than a lot of religious fundamentalists)

One of the comments on her site says the original recipe can still be bought in other countries and a little more searching will hopefully nail that down. I think the real Ovaltine on vanilla ice cream one more time, or in a mug on a chilly night, is something I now have to make happen! Having a cause is important, having a good cause is even better. I say, the hell with you, Victor Gonzalez! Here, have this New Ovaltine! Once I find the old one, I won't lose one more second of sleep over your nefarious schemes. Until then...