From vegoutmag.com
By Nato Lagidze
What if your milk choice says more about your mood than your menu?
I’ve always taken coffee seriously.
Not in the rigid, measuring-scale kind of way — but more like a morning ritual that knows me better than I know myself.
Coffee is my first emotional checkpoint of the day. The moment everything else pauses so I can figure out what kind of human I’m becoming that morning. Literally.
So when I decided to quit dairy (for health, ethics, curiosity—let’s call it a blend), I didn’t just grab the nearest plant milk and move on.
I turned it into an experiment. A real one.
Six different milks. Same dark roast. Same mug (this was the hardest part, I like variety). Same stirring rhythm. Six variations of what it means to feel slightly more or slightly less alive at 9 a.m.
And if you’ve ever tried sourcing non-dairy milk in Georgia, you know it’s a mission. These milks aren’t lining every supermarket fridge. They're like elusive characters — some show up only during obscure discount weeks, others exist only in specialty stores where everything is 2.5x your grocery budget.
So I waited for sales. Hunted them like seasonal fruit. And treated each new bottle like a rare research subject.
Here’s what I discovered — not just about taste, but about identity, memory, and how even a splash of milk can reveal who we are that day.
1) Oat milk: the emotionally intelligent frontrunner
This one almost won.
Oat milk is beloved for a reason. It’s creamy, nutty-sweet, and behaves well in heat. The barista versions foam beautifully, turning espresso into velvet.
For me, oat milk was a revelation — especially in matcha. I mean, matcha and oat milk are basically soulmates. But in coffee?
That’s more complicated. It depends on a lot: how acidic the roast is, your mood, whether you’re drinking it hot or iced, whether the oat brand is trying too hard or just right.
Still, oat milk is the one I came back to the most. It felt… emotionally regulated.
It doesn’t dominate. It doesn’t disappear. It just softens the edges.
But I’ll admit—there were moments it felt too soft. Too comforting. Like I needed something sharper, cleaner. Which brings me to...
2) Almond milk: the perfectionist with commitment issues
Ah, almond milk. My long-time love-hate relationship.
Some days, it’s flawless. Light, elegant, crisp. Other days? It curdles, tastes like dust, and ruins everything.
There is no middle ground with almond milk. It’s either quietly stunning or passive-aggressively awful.
When it’s good, almond milk brings this clean brightness that’s refreshing, especially in iced coffee. But in hot brews, it's unpredictable. Some brands are a disaster. Others are near divine.
I’ve had mornings where it elevated my entire being—and others where I questioned all my life choices.
Still, I can’t fully quit it.
It’s like that one emotionally unavailable person you know isn’t good for you… but when they’re good, they’re unforgettable.
3) Soy milk: the steady overachiever
Soy milk feels like the eldest child of the plant milk family. It’s been around the longest, has the most degrees, and probably has a spreadsheet for its morning routine.
In coffee, it’s stable.
Slightly nutty, dense enough to give body, and doesn't try to seduce you with sweetness. It’s the dependable one for most vegans. The milk you choose when you need to get your life together.
Not my thing, though.
I reached for soy on days when I felt scattered or overstimulated. It anchored me. It wasn’t flashy, but it was there. Solid. Uncomplicated. Like someone who texts back within five minutes and never uses read receipts.
Would I use it every day? Maybe not. But when the world felt too much, soy milk brought a kind of emotional grounding I didn’t know I needed.
4) Rice milk: the kindhearted ghost
Rice milk didn’t try to impress me. It just quietly showed up, did its job, and disappeared again.
It’s watery, yes. A bit too sweet for my taste. But there’s something soft about it. It reminded me of school mornings and warm cereal porridge and how my dad used to make me tea the first thing in the morning.
It didn’t add much body to the coffee. Honestly, it thinned it out.
But emotionally?
It made the whole cup feel… gentle. Like nothing bad could happen while drinking it.
I wouldn’t call it a go-to, but there’s a place for rice milk. For the mornings when you don’t need stimulation — you need comfort. A soft landing.
Still, it can't compete with oat milk for coffee. That's for sure.
5) Coconut milk: the dramatic artist
Coconut milk doesn’t play nice. It takes over.
The moment I poured it in, I felt like I was on vacation in a place I couldn’t afford. It’s creamy, intense, and has this unmistakable flavour that doesn’t blend—it dominates.
Some mornings, that’s exactly what I wanted. Something bold. Something weird. Something that made my coffee feel like a story.
But most days?
It was too much. I couldn’t figure out who was in charge—me or the milk.
Coconut milk is the kind of person you fall hard for and then realize you can’t live with because they alphabetize their vinyl collection and cry during pasta commercials. Well, sometimes I'm that person myself, but still.
Beautiful chaos. Great in small doses.
6) Hazelnut milk: the unexpected poet
I didn’t expect to like hazelnut milk. Honestly, I expected artificial sweetness and fake Nutella energy.
But it surprised me.
There was a warmth to it. A roasted, slightly melancholic depth that turned my coffee into a reflective space. It felt like autumn. Like long walks. Like rereading an old book and seeing something new.
I wouldn’t use it every day—it’s too moody for that. But on rainy mornings or when I was in a dreamy headspace, hazelnut milk met me exactly where I was.
It was like having a cup of coffee with someone who doesn’t say much, but when they do, it hits somewhere soft.
What this taught me (besides how to time supermarket discounts)
Beyond the flavour notes and foam tests, what I really learned is that we treat coffee like identity.
The milk you use, the way you drink it, the brands you reach for when no one’s watching — these are tiny rituals of self-recognition. And in a culture that’s constantly rushing, that recognition matters.
Each milk brought out something different in me. Not just on the tongue, but in the body, the breath, the mood. Some mornings, I needed boldness. Others, I needed familiarity. And sometimes, I just needed to laugh at how dramatic a cup of coconut milk could be.
And yes, this was all born out of a little nutrition experiment, a little boredom, and a lot of waiting for discount tags at Georgian health stores.
But it became more than that.
It became a way to check in with myself. To notice what I needed. To realize that even in something as ordinary as milk, there is room for play, for emotion, for texture.
Final thoughts
I don’t believe in “the best” plant-based milk. I believe in the right milk for that morning, that mood, that moment in your life.
Oat milk made me feel stable. Almond made me feel specific. Soy made me feel grounded. Rice made me feel held. Coconut made me feel chaotic (in a good way). Hazelnut made me feel poetic.
And maybe that’s the whole point.
The way we experience flavor is never just physical. It’s emotional. Psychological. Sometimes even existential. Milk is not just milk. It’s memory. It’s longing. It’s a way of saying: “This is who I am right now.”
So try them all. Wait for the discounts. Froth them with intention. Drink slowly.
And listen to what your coffee is trying to tell you.
