Life is full of surprises.

The thing about New York City is, if you can't find something, you aren't looking hard enough.

Case in point: sheep's milk. Not sheep's milk cheese, or yogurt, or butter, or any refined product made from the milk. Just the milk. Only the milk.

And I now have three eight-ounce containers of it sitting in my fridge, waiting for me.

It wasn't even that I was looking very hard. I stopped by a grocery store on my way back to my apartment from the farmer's market, which has wonderful eggs and potatoes but nothing in the way of olive oil or black pepper. When I got inside, and checked the dairy case, my eyes bugged out of my head because I honestly couldn't believe it. No way was it - but it was. Just a little, wonderful thing.

There's no way I can keep buying it, not for the amount of milk I go through in a week for coffee alone. But for this once, to learn what it tastes like, and I can finally stop looking.