I Scream. You Scream. We All Scream For Breast Cream?

Okay, so y’all know I’m not always hip to all the latest and greatest food trends. Someone who collects vintage recipe cards and has a perpetual hankering for Velveeta can’t call themselves a gourmand. I’m not a terribly adventurous eater either. I don’t eat exotic mystery meats, innards (including that fancy French foie gras shit), or pretty much anything that gives Anthony Bourdain a hard-on. So you’ll not be surprised to hear that my gag reflex kicked into overdrive the other day when someone told me they’re selling foodstuffs made out of human breast milk. Yeah, you heard me. Human freakin’ breast milk.

Those of you who have been reading me for a while know where I stand on the whole breastfeeding in public situation. If you don’t you can catch up later. But, this is worse than someone whipping their tits out to feed their kids at McDonalds. Way worse. This is someone whipping out their tits to make cheese and ice cream for someone else to sell. Can I get a collective “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” please?

Back in 2008 the creative folks at PETA sent a letter to Ben & Jerry suggesting that they should switch from bovine milk to human breast milk, which, thank God, they had the sense to pass on. I couldn’t bear to lose Chubby Hubby from my diet. Later that same year a Swiss chef named Hans Locher decided to add breast milk to several of his restaurant’s recipes. Well, sure what do you expect from a country whose national anthem involves yodelling? Here’s a recipe for those of you who really want to whip up a little special something for dinner tonight.

Chantarelle sauce with breast milk and cognac
Warm up olive oil with cinnamon and flambéed cognac
Add white wine and stir
Add breast milk and stir
Add whipped cream
Serve with antelope steak or other grilled meat and black Piedmont rice
Garnish with vegetables
(Courtesy of The Sunday Times)

Mommy's Milk Cheese-Daniel Angerer©

Earlier this year New York Chef Daniel Angerer started making homemade cheese out his wife’s excess breast milk and serving it up at his restaurant. Customers clamoured for it. Gag. What in the hell is wrong with New Yorkers? It’s like Survivor meets Top Chef. This is the kind of cheese you make when there’s only the two of you left on the planet and all the goats, cows, and sheep are extinct. It’s not what’s for dinner. Not in my house at least. For those of you that this appeals to Angerer includes the step-by-step guide to making your own Tit Cheese on his website. Oh, and if you do, unfriend me on Facebook immediately. You and I now officially have nothing in common.

Then just yesterday my my friend sends me a link to a news story about some crazy ice cream parlour in London called Icecreamists who have started selling a breast milk ice cream called “Baby Gaga.” The owner of the parlour refers to breast milk at “free range” which I can only imagine means that the women who produce the milk don’t wear bras. Icecreamists charge, and apparently people pay, $24 a scoop for this gag inducing dulce de leche. I shit you not. More than the cheese, this really offends my finer sensibilities. Ice cream is sacred in my home, and it should be in yours.

Next thing you know there will be a woman with a breast pump attached taking orders in the dairy section of your local supermarket and bare chested baristas at Starbucks draining their breasts for your morning latte. Gag.