Greetings, Breast Milkists and Anti-Breast Milkists Alike!
First, I apologize for the delay in posting. It's not that I've been any busier than usual this past week; it's just that there was what I can only describe as an Unexpected Wrinkle in Time. You know, where you're toodling along, minding your own business, and suddenly you look up and realize in shock that four days have gone by. It's like, Wednesday got folded over Tuesday and Monday, swallowing them up completely.
A while ago, Shaz responded to one of my posts like this:
This maniacal laughing sound has stuck with me. I've actually practiced saying it by myself in the car on more than one occasion. Come on, everybody try it: "BWAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAH!" It's the kind of twisted, Halloweenish laugh that could come from a lot of different kinds of people. Like, Crusty Mean Old Sister Estelle - my 4th grade teacher at St. Lukes - calling on me in Religion class with some Bible trivia question, knowing that I wouldn't know the answer. The other kids would laugh as I writhed in embarrassment, and I'm pretty sure that's exactly how she would laugh inside of her own, sadistic mind (she did finally die, by the way, years and years later).
But I digress. So, how in the world does "BWAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAH!" relate to the oh-lovely topic of dead babies?
Well, I was thinking this is also the kind of booming laugh that the Great Being Above, God or Buddah or Brad Pitt or whoever, bellows with echoing, evil, giddy force when a stillbirth momma's boobies begin, a week or so after the el yucko event itself, to produce milk. It's like a double bitch-smack - one to see what you can really handle (that would be the stillbirth itself), and another humiliating added sting for good measure (that would be your breasticles switching into unexpected, unwanted dairy mode).
Any stillbirth mommies out there will back me up on this one. You're sitting there going through eight boxes of Kleenex a day, still reeling from losing your dream baby, and JUST when you think you're kind of sort of maybe a little bit returning to the brink of sanity, BOOM: you look down and go:
"What the f**king f**k's that f**king sh*t on my f**king sports f**king bra!!!??? NOOOOOOOO!"
At least, that's how I said it during this profanity-filled, world-hating time of my life. And meanwhile, the great being above just kicks back, totally entertained, and watches with sick pleasure.
So, when it happened to me, I did consider trying to use the "make lemonade out of lemons" analogy for my own personal benefit. In this case, it would be like, "make $$ out of breast milk." All I would need would be a handful of booby milk pumps, a brilliant marketing strategy, and perhaps a wee bit of start-up funds.
I began researching if people actually BUY other people's breast milk, if it's possible to make stuff out of breast milk for adult human consumption. The more I thought about it, the more endless recipe possibilities I realized were out there!
Turkey Tit-razzini- Just like Mom used to make! All white-meat turkey medallions in a breast milk sauce with peas, carrots, and a hint of white wine.
Deep Dish Teat-zza: A soft and chewy crust baked to a golden brown, brushed with olive oil, topped with breast milk cheese blend, fresh marinara sauce and kalamari olives.
Vanilla Rum Milksicles: Breast milk, bourbon vanilla extract, crushed vanilla bean, and a hint of Bacardi, blended and frozen in an ice cube tray with toothpicks.
I wasn't able to find ANY evidence of adult humans consuming dairy products made with human breast milk, and there wasn't much breast milk for sale on the Internet. I did find, on Ebay, one listing for a bunch of bottles filled with the stuff from some woman out in Kansas or Oklahoma or some such place. I personally thought the concept of ordering someone else's booby milk was kinda gross (especially from the Midwest, where there might conceivably be traces of chemical food preservatives from Cracker Barrel biscuits), and ultimately my whole plan withered and faded. Probably for the better.
Nowadays, though, breast milk seems to be finding its own niche in the culinary world. Look around, and you'll see an UPTICK (don't you LOVE that word!) in breast milk recipes. Recipe Zaar how has yummy recipes for breast milk butter, "momsicles" (didn't I already think of that?), and yoghurt. Then, of course, there's Le Petit Singly, a rather dodgy sounding farm in France that produces authentic cheese from "breast milk of woman, tinged with a touch of hazelnut and a subtle caramel color." Contact them directly to donate your own boob milk - you may even be able to buy your milk back as your own cheese wheels, wrap it in pretty foil with ribbons, and give "the gift of yourself" for the holidays! Now THAT'S classy.
Au contraire, mon ami, one blogger out there documented her attempt to make paneer - you know, that yummy Indian cheese - with breast milk, and concluded in all capital letters that cheese CANNOT be made with booby milk, so don't even try.
Best to contact Le Petit Singly for tips and tricks if you decide to embark on your own breast milk foodie adventure!