It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 19

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word culture. Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws.

Today's topic: Titty cheese.


I nursed all three of my children, and was happy to do it.  There is something magical about nursing a baby - the closeness, the bond, the toe-curling pain when a greedy little piggy latches on to your cracked pre-mastitis nipple...but I digress.

Current Husband never tasted breast milk.  He was a little grossed out by the whole leaky pipes deal, particularly since we tended to have a lot of icky nursing pads in the garbage, which honestly smell like rotting roadkill if not taken out promptly.  I have friends whose husbands happily relieved their engorged breasts during nursing if the babies were full, but CH was never that guy.  

Therefore, I will not be taking CH to Klee Brasserie in Chelsea, NYC, because of this article in the March 9, 2010 New York Post.  (Observations by me are in blue, lest you think they are part of the NY Post story and I somehow end up getting sued):

Wife's Baby Milk in Chef's Cheese Recipe
This Chelsea restaurant has gone from brasserie to brassiere.
Chef Daniel Angerer is letting diners at Klee Brasserie munch on cheese made from his wife's breast milk.
(Say what, hoobastank?)
"It tastes like cow's-milk cheese, kind of sweet," he told The Post.
The flavor depends on what the cheese is served with -- Angerer recommends a Riesling -- and "what the mother eats," said Angerer, who once bested Bobby Flay on TV's "Iron Chef."
Breast milk doesn't curdle well due to its low protein content, so a little moo juice has to be added to round out the texture, Angerer said.
(WAIT!  DID HE JUST RECOMMEND A WINE TO ACCOMPANY HIS WIFE'S BREAST MILK?  Uh, Chef, I just made a mousse out of the 4000 mounds of winter dog shit in my yard, do you have a wine recommendation?  Hey Chef, I'm banging your wife, is there a wine you would recommend?  Chef, I have a human liver and some fava beans, do you have a nice Chianti you could recommend?)

"Just wait until you see the innovative ways 

I plan to cook the baby poo...."

After blogging about his efforts with the human cheese, customers started demanding a sample, he said.
"The phone was ringing off the hook," the chef said. "So I prepared a little canapé of breast-milk cheese with figs and Hungarian pepper."
(When people call me demanding my biohazardous body fluids, I tend to lean toward the figs and Hungarians myself.  It's a no-brainer.)
The response has been generally positive from those who've tried the cheese, although many customers are too squeamish to attempt it.
(Like me.  Hungarian pepper freaks me out, too.)
"I think a lot of the criticism has to do with the combination of sex and cheese, but . . . the breast is there to make food," said Lori Mason, the chef's wife.
(Wait...we get to have sex with the cheese?  Do you call Daniel "The Breast" at home?)

Since the restaurant began offering customers a taste, Mason has been inundated with creepy queries, she said. (Like, "Hey, would you make some cheese for me out of your wife's breast milk?")
"Some people who clearly have issues have . . . e-mailed me saying, 'I wasn't breast-fed as a child, so can I taste your breast milk?' " she said.
Mason politely declines the offer.
"I'm not here to walk people through their psychological problems," she said.
No Lori, of course not.  Your psychological plate is full with strapping on the double breast pump for your morning and evening milking schedule for the restaurant.  That Titty Cheese ain't gonna make itself!  And no Funyuns for you today, it might taint the milk, and we wouldn't want Mayor Bloomberg sending back the appetizer, now would we?
That said, Mason is now prodding her husband to make gelato.
Prodding him, is she?  So the gelato isn't going to be made out of HER bodily fluids...tit for tat, indeed!
After inquiries from The Post, health bigs said yesterday that even though department codes do not explicitly forbid the practice, they have advised Angerer to refrain from sharing his wife's milk with the world.
"The restaurant knows that cheese made from breast milk is not for public consumption, whether sold or given away," a spokeswoman for the city Department of Health said.
 The End.

Don't get me wrong.  If Dan and Lori want to make Titty Cheese at home and serve it on Ritz, that's great.  And if he wants to make Titty Tiramisu or Titty Tarts or Titty Yogurt at his restaurant, as long as he labels it for exactly what it is and doesn't slip it in (oh yes, I just said that) other dishes, go for it.  And perhaps the argument can be made that it isn't that different from getting a cow's bodily fluids and pouring it on our Trix.

So why does this all seem so...so...icky thump to me?  Is it picturing the source?  Is it that a cow can't look at me and say, "This would be great in custard...moo."  Or is it looking at Lori's lovely dimpled face and thinking "I'd really rather have a margarita with you than eat cheese, or anything else, pumped out of your breast"?

I am sure Daniel and Lori are lovely people, and their baby is a sweet little biscuit.  All I know is that I am suddenly feeling a little lactose intolerant.  There is something magical about nursing a baby, but there is something porno about eating Titty Cheese with figs and company and then paying for it.  To each his own, fo shizzle.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday!  Have a great weekend!