Strange(r) Foods: Breast Milk Cheese in NYC

I have always thought to myself, Hey self, is there anything better in life than a nice cold glass of milk and some boobies? And the answer is simply, No self, there’s nothing better in life than a nice cold glass of milk and some boobies.

But the two are mutually exclusive. I don’t find myself rummaging through the fridge trying to find some leftover breast milk for my coffee. I just don’t see breast milk in that way. Maybe it’s because I watched Michelle struggle with breastfeeding. Maybe it’s because I subconsciously see the whole mother-child connection and don’t want to intrude on that bond. Maybe it’s because breast milk is a bodily fluid and you don’t see me drinking pee.

Whatever the reason, I believe breast milk isn’t for personal consumption after your infancy. But don’t tell that to Daniel Angerer and his wife, Lori Mason.

Angerer, chef and owner of Klee Brasserie in New York City, is putting Mother’s Milk on the menu in the form of homemade cheese. Apparently Lori was a milk machine after giving birth to their daughter and the couple had breast milk all over the place. So mad scientist boobie milk freak chef Angerer decided to cook up some boobie milk cheese:

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.’

The fetish experiment has caught the attention of everyone from the media to mommy experts and even the New York City Health Department, which seems less amused. Per reports, it has asked Angerer to stop offering his wife’s milk to the general public, even though there is no specific law on the books prohibiting it: “The restaurant knows that cheese made from breast milk is not for public consumption, whether it is sold or given away,” a Health Department spokeswoman told the New York Post.

But the attention hasn’t stopped the usual freaks from coming out of the woodwork, according to Mason:

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?' ... I'm not here to walk people through their psychological problems.

Not unless they’re willing to spend some ducats on maple caramelized pumpkin encrusted with Mommy's Milk cheese on a bed of texturized concord grapes, that is.

Strange(r) Things in Life: Pork Roll

There are few things strange(r) in life than one of the foods that brings such joy into my life: Pork Roll.

Now I understand that there are probably a few of you who have never heard of pork roll. Without using the phrase "little drops of heaven," there's no accurate description of Pork Roll. I mean, Wikipedia doesn't even know how to write about it:

Although the product is widely consumed and enjoyed, it resists accurate description. Some people compare the taste and/or texture to SPAM, Treet, bologna, mild salami, smoked summer sausage, or US-style Canadian bacon. In 1910 it was described as "a food article made of pork, packed in a cylindrical cotton sack or bag in such form that it could be quickly prepared for cooking by slicing without removal from the bag."

I've personally heard more accurate descriptions of Osama bin Laden's whereabouts, but that's neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is that once you take a bite into a perfectly grilled Pork Roll, Egg and Cheese on a Hard Roll (which means Kaiser Roll, people) with deli mustard, you haven't really lived. It's sort of like an initiation into true dining.

I mean, between a porker at Rice's, a Fat Knight from the Grease trucks, a large light and sweet at DD, a sausage pie from Chitch's and a sack full of burgers and rings at White Castle, there's a true New Jersey foodie lesson plan.

So today I salute you, Pork Roll. A strange(r) food, no doubt. A more delicious food, there may not be one.

Who Wants to Go for a Run?

Ed. Note: I sent this email earlier this evening as a result of some news I got this week. Thought it was Growing Up Kaitlyn-worthy. Enjoy.

Dear Friends:

While you are getting this email from Michelle, it's actually James. I didn't have all your email accounts in my address book, so I hijacked my wife's email for this very important announcement.

As you may or may not know, I am a bottomless pit when it comes to food. I eat anything and everything. There's Papa John's The Meats pizza, the entire dollar menu at McDonald's, bottomless Garlic Parmesan Fries at Red Robin, the Tour of Italy at Olive Garden, a Joey Bag of Donuts at Moe's, the Great Wall of Chocolate at PF Chang's and countless other foods that, without my support, would likely be taken off menus across this great nation. I do, however, draw the line at Costco-brand dim-sum (thanks, Joe).

Because my body's metabolism has allowed me to eat these wonderfully sinful foods without gaining more than four or five pounds in any given calendar year since I was 15, I never saw the affect any of this was having on my health. Never looked at weight as a problem, never had a total workup during a physical because doctors told me, "You look fine. Anything wrong?" and the answer was no; never had my cholesterol checked, mostly out of fear the nurse reading the results would have a coronary just by looking at the high numbers.

All this changed, however, in my return from semi-retirement. In order to get lower health insurance costs, I had to participate in the company's wellness program. That required getting blood drawn and tests done. The results came back this week. And I need some help.

Apparently, all my fast food friends weren't actually my friends. Can you believe a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese isn't good for you? Yeah, I know. This will in all likelihood end my quest to becoming the next Deep Fried Ambassador. My cholesterol levels are -- how to put this -- higher than Tim Lincecum at HempCon. In plain English, I need to get healthier. And one of those ways is to (brace yourselves) start running again. *GASP*

I figured there's no better motivation than money. I am already dropping the $25 to register for the 2nd Annual Running for the Green on May 22, a 5K that benefits the Greensboro Children's Museum. I figured that not only will I have the motivation to run because I don't want to lose the money, but I would also be giving the money to a good cause -- one that the family will benefit from since we love bringing Kaitlyn to the museum.

So the offer to you is simple: come run with me. It's a mere three miles through Fisher Park on a Saturday morning. If you run with me, I'll even provide my home and the food for a grilling party that afternoon. Heck, come out and support everyone who's running and you too can come to the house (bring your own food though, slacker).

I have 13 weeks to get myself into some semblance of shape (and no, "round" doesn't count). Michelle might even come out and support me if you all bug her enough. But she won't run -- remember the Cannonball?

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Talk to you all soon. Later -- James.