This Dude Turned His Wife’s Placenta Into Tacos And A Smoothie
I never quite got the draw of consuming one’s own placenta. I didn’t consume mine, because I wasn’t raised by a pack of wolves. I had no desire to ingest something that had been crammed inside my uterus for nearly 10 months. To point out the obvious – that’s fucking disgusting. A father and writer for the Guardian clearly doesn’t agree with me. He took his wife’s placenta home in a “doggy bag” and made it into a smoothie and tacos.
It is mere moments after the birth of my son and, still basking in the euphoria of parenthood, I make the request. The mood changes, the smiles of the midwives melt into looks of bewilderment, then repulsion. It has, however, interested the surgeon who is busy stitching my wife up after her C-section. “How are you going to cook it?” he asks. “With spices?”
I seriously doubt the midwives were repulsed by the thought of consuming placenta. They just thought you were an idiot. The look that you saw on their faces wasn’t repulsion – it was disbelief that there could exist someone so stupid.
His article is cleverly titled, “I ate my wife’s placenta raw and cooked in a taco.” Apart from the fact that any benefits people claim are reaped by ingesting the placenta are purely anecdotal – I seriously doubt this dude was concerned about postpartum depression and hemmorraging. Also, his recipes suck. I think I’m less bothered by the fact that he ate the placenta, and more bothered that he calls some cooked meat in a flour tortilla with cilantro a taco. That’s not a taco, dude. Where’s the hot sauce? Where’s the onions? Where’s the lime? His smoothie recipe is even worse! Banana and coconut water. Bleck. Gross. How about some berries or a little bit of citrus? Adding banana to anything ruins it – as evidenced by the banana split.
The blender looked rank. After 10 minutes of watching a hefty chunk of placenta whirl round the Magimix, it finally broke down into the banana and coconut water. Up front was the distinct flavour of banana, superseded by a metallic, bloody backnote. It had a mineral earthiness to it and tasted exactly like the delivery room had smelled.
It “tasted exactly like the delivery room had smelled.” Be right back. I have to go cry.
The cooked placenta, on the other hand, was actually pretty good. As I seasoned it on the chopping board, the bright, almost glowing red chunk of placenta was more attractive than many cuts of offal I’ve dealt with, and looked quite appetising. The meat was rich, with a beef-like quality. It was tender, kind of like roast brisket and not dissimilar to Texas BBQ.
I call bullshit. I don’t believe it tastes like brisket. It was a pretty entertaining read though.