Sheep placenta smacks of something bad. The smell—like fish food, rancid meat, or a filthy LES bathroom, at best—is nothing to write home about. The taste also leaves much to be desired; a kind of flinty, mealy residual clings to the tongue.
But I can't get enough of it.
The popularity of consuming human placenta has been kicking around the blogosphere for a minute now. In fact, a former classmate of mine wrote a feature for New York Magazine a few years back, titled "The Placenta Cookbook." She described an experimental trend with new mothers: dehydrating, encapsulating, and popping "happy pills" made of their own liverish, fibrous tissue. It's really nutritious!, they claimed. Think high levels of iron, vitamin B-12, antibodies, hormones, and bio-active cytokines to regenerate collagen and organic tissue. In other words, a miracle food.
But, before we peg it as a New Age phenomenon, confined to the outer reaches of Berkeley and Bushwick, it's interesting to note that the significance of placenta dates back to ancient Egyptians, who created a unique hieroglyph to signify its spiritual clout. Also, virtually every female land mammal—besides the ones who wear lipstick—instinctively consume their own placenta after giving birth, leading neuroscientists to hypothesize that there must be some arcane biological advantage here.
There's an awesome little gem in Chinatown called Sun's Organic Tea & Herb Shop. I love this place; a Yelp reviewer once aptly described it as the "best edible (drinkable?) museum in New York." A few weeks ago, I was studying the shop's expansive offering of loose-leaf teas, like organic milk oolong and tangerine-fermented pu-erh, when I spied a curious glass jar marked "Sheep Placenta Extract—From Tibet." Above it, the words "Do Not Open."
Of course, I had to open it. The contents were a ground-up, fine powder the color of Rockaway Beach sand. "Sheep's placenta, from the high mountains of Tibet," shop owner Lorna Lai told me. "They have a natural diet there—no junk, just really good grass—so you know their placenta is clean."
And what does it do, exactly?
According to nutritionists, sheep placenta is as close as one can get to the human variety, tapping into the power of stem cells to fight free-radical damage, reverse the aging process, and coax plump, glowing skin. It's nutrient and protein-dense, and the hormones are meant to bring yours into equilibrium.
I purchased a scoop, about a one-month supply, at $13.50 an ounce. (The recommended daily intake is half a teaspoon, whisked into warm water.) As I was standing in line, another customer warned me of the putrid smell—take it with jasmine pearls, she said.
For three weeks now, I've dutifully drank sheep placenta in the morning, before coffee. I've sprinkled it on top of equally funky, fermented nattō beans. I've watched it sink into the bottom of a neglected cup, coagulating to the size of miniature pebbles. Happy to report, Lorna was (half) right. I've felt an immediate, buzzy high similar
But I can't get enough of it.
The popularity of consuming human placenta has been kicking around the blogosphere for a minute now. In fact, a former classmate of mine wrote a feature for New York Magazine a few years back, titled "The Placenta Cookbook." She described an experimental trend with new mothers: dehydrating, encapsulating, and popping "happy pills" made of their own liverish, fibrous tissue. It's really nutritious!, they claimed. Think high levels of iron, vitamin B-12, antibodies, hormones, and bio-active cytokines to regenerate collagen and organic tissue. In other words, a miracle food.
But, before we peg it as a New Age phenomenon, confined to the outer reaches of Berkeley and Bushwick, it's interesting to note that the significance of placenta dates back to ancient Egyptians, who created a unique hieroglyph to signify its spiritual clout. Also, virtually every female land mammal—besides the ones who wear lipstick—instinctively consume their own placenta after giving birth, leading neuroscientists to hypothesize that there must be some arcane biological advantage here.
There's an awesome little gem in Chinatown called Sun's Organic Tea & Herb Shop. I love this place; a Yelp reviewer once aptly described it as the "best edible (drinkable?) museum in New York." A few weeks ago, I was studying the shop's expansive offering of loose-leaf teas, like organic milk oolong and tangerine-fermented pu-erh, when I spied a curious glass jar marked "Sheep Placenta Extract—From Tibet." Above it, the words "Do Not Open."
Of course, I had to open it. The contents were a ground-up, fine powder the color of Rockaway Beach sand. "Sheep's placenta, from the high mountains of Tibet," shop owner Lorna Lai told me. "They have a natural diet there—no junk, just really good grass—so you know their placenta is clean."
And what does it do, exactly?
According to nutritionists, sheep placenta is as close as one can get to the human variety, tapping into the power of stem cells to fight free-radical damage, reverse the aging process, and coax plump, glowing skin. It's nutrient and protein-dense, and the hormones are meant to bring yours into equilibrium.
I purchased a scoop, about a one-month supply, at $13.50 an ounce. (The recommended daily intake is half a teaspoon, whisked into warm water.) As I was standing in line, another customer warned me of the putrid smell—take it with jasmine pearls, she said.
For three weeks now, I've dutifully drank sheep placenta in the morning, before coffee. I've sprinkled it on top of equally funky, fermented nattō beans. I've watched it sink into the bottom of a neglected cup, coagulating to the size of miniature pebbles. Happy to report, Lorna was (half) right. I've felt an immediate, buzzy high similar