I really like milk milk.
My partner, though, is very allergic—not pop-a-Lactaid allergic, but hives-and-EpiPen allergic. So, sharing meals (and spaces) has necessarily meant a sharp decline in my dairy consumption (bye, cream). It’s not that having dairy at the table will poison him, but I’ve come to learn that meals are just slightly less enjoyable, less meaningful when you can’t share them with the person you love. (OK, the reality is less virtuous: I ordered a burrata appetizer at a restaurant a few months ago and had to eat the entire ball alone.)