illegal cheese

Soldato
Joined
9 Jan 2003
Posts
21,000
Location
Cornwall
Just got sent a link to a page in http://www.sanfranmag.com/ was going to direct link here but its got one swarie in it, so I'll post the whole thing here with edits.

having read it I found it quite ammusing, dunno if you'll feel the same but thats up to you.

if any UB/Don etc see a swarie that I've missed (sure there was just one, and that was a quote) can they edit it rather than bannorzing me pls!

enjoy.

Joshua Davis said:
In certain parts of the country, neighbors vie to have the hottest car, biggest house, or fattest bankroll. In San Francisco, my friends and I compete to cook each other the most mind-bending dinners. That’s what wins us bragging rights. It’s fun and deadly serious. Some people strut their stuff playing poker. We cook.

“I’ll see your grilled blah blah in a port reduction sauce,” I say to my friend Obie, a chef who’s invited my wife and me over for mesquite-grilled monkfish. “And I’ll raise you a wasabi-encrusted ahi steak next week.”

Obie frowns. “That’s so wannabe fancy.” His gut is already begging to spill over his belt and he looks a little tipsy, high on a combination of pinot grigio and a glowing sense of triumph. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t just wrestle and eat hamburgers.

“OK, you name the game,” I sputter, momentarily piqued. “What do you want to do? You want to barbecue? You want me to hit you with my special sauce?” I leer at Obie and he leers back. Then he smiles. “What, goddamnit?” I demand.

“You get some brie de Meaux and I’ll concede defeat. But the real brie de Meaux—none of the imitation stuff.”

I scrutinize him for a second. “You realize you’re asking me to commit a crime?”

Brie de Meaux is an illegal cheese. In 1950, the Food and Drug Administration enacted Title 21, Part 133 of the cheese code, banning all cheeses made from unpasteurized milk if aged less than 60 days. The FDA thought these young raw milk cheeses were likely to carry deadly pathogens, and notwithstanding the fact that the French have survived centuries of raw cheese consumption, the U.S. government put an end to its importation.

Of course, some of the best cheeses fall into this category, and San Franciscans aren’t about to let them go.

In a region as dedicated to its food snobbery as it is to its antiestablishment identity, the Bay Area is a prime breeding ground for serious cheese smugglers. Though I’ve never tasted it, I’ve heard foodie friends speak ecstatically about brie de Meaux, considered the king of bries. If I’m going to score, I’ll have to find a dealer. Maybe it’ll be as easy as walking down Haight Street listening for the mumblings: “Doses, cheese, dope, brie.”

“You’re on,” I growl to Obie, oozing bravado.

A sly grin creeps across his face. “Just don’t ask me to bail you out when you get arrested.”

The most dramatic approach would be to smuggle the cheese back from France myself. The problem is, I’m the nervous type. I could see myself having a panic attack on the airplane and ending up in the bathroom during the descent into SFO. I’d try to hide the cheese by cramming it into my mouth. The gagging would draw the attention of a stewardess, who’d knock and ask if I was all right. I’d open the door to prove I was fine, but telltale gobs of brie would be streaked across my cheek. She’d alert the captain and I’d be turned over to the FDA’s illegal-cheese rapid response team at the gate.

OK, so the FDA doesn’t have an illegal-cheese rapid response team, but it does have a sort of cheese vice squad. I call the local FDA and ask to speak to a cheese detective, but they tell me the inspectors don’t talk publicly about their work. They make it sound as if they’re undercover and don’t want their identities revealed.

This freaks me out even more. Undercover cheese detectives? When pressed, they say that in some cases the inspectors intercept suspicious cheese and ferret away samples for testing. If caught with illegal cheese, I could face a $250 fine and a possible black mark on my customs file that could lead to a lifetime of border-crossing harassment. But they really only stop commercial importers, not tourists, so I may be getting carried away. Regardless, I’ll leave the smuggling to someone else.

I’m getting desperate and I need some leads. So I call one of the Bay Area’s most respected wholesalers and press one of the salespeople, Jesse, for information. He says the FDA has stepped up its illegal-cheese raiding recently and that his company has no intention of being cited. Still, he does acknowledge that there’s a local underground cheese society. Some people smuggle cheese back from Europe personally; others have it shipped to a friend in Canada and then Fed Exed home. And some people, he says, are lucky enough to have a dealer who can “hook you up with the best **** ever.”

The large-scale dealers run shops that use legal cheese as a cover, generally getting their illegal goods through crafty wholesalers. When the wholesale cheese is airfreighted from France, a certain amount of the shipment is raw milk cheese either mislabeled as FDA compliant or simply unlabeled and hidden among the rest. The FDA cannot check everything, and just like cocaine moving through the Caribbean, what gets through is enough to justify the risk for both wholesalers and dealers. It wins the devotion of their clientele and makes them good money. A real-deal époisses—a rare, runny French cow’s milk cheese—can retail starting at $30 on the black market, and that’s for a piece that fits in your palm.

Those with the right connections get invited to illegal-cheese parties, like one recently thrown by a San Francisco lawyer who agreed to speak on the condition of anonymity. He tells me he smuggled a wheel of époisses on his way back from vacationing in Vienna. He wrapped the cheese tightly in plastic, buried it in his checked luggage, and invited his 20 most important friends over for an illicit-cheese party. “People looked at me a little differently after that,” he says. “There was more respect—a little bit of a ‘He’s not just a lawyer, he’s a wild cheese smuggler’ type of thing.”

“Illegal cheese is a status symbol,” says Jesse. “If you can bring a fresh raw milk brie or camembert to the table, it says something about your wealth and mobility.” I need to be saying things about my wealth and mobility. I need to speak loudly and carry some strong cheese. I need a dealer.

I spend a week visiting local cheese shops, lightly asking for “young raw milk brie.” I’m turned away a number of times, but then strike gold. One middle-aged cheesemonger pauses before he responds. “What exactly are you looking for?” he asks, lowering his voice. The shop is empty—it’s early afternoon. I decide to lay my cards on the table and tell him I’m looking for an unpasteurized brie de Meaux.

“Ah,” he says, with a sly, complicit grin. He pushes aside a wall of cheese in his refrigerator and pulls out a large disk of unmarked brie from the back. “I think you might like this.” I ask him what it is. He chuckles and, in a mock-confused voice, tells me he doesn’t know. It arrived unlabeled from one of his importers. “But it tastes like only one thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He cuts two thin slices—one for himself and one for me. I take a nibble and feel a sudden rush; it’s different from anything I’ve ever eaten. There are pastures in there; I can taste the fields and sense the end-of-summer grass. It’s a big, robust, whack-you-over-the-head-with-a-log-and-tickle-you-with-a-piece-of-straw kind of cheese. I can’t speak. I just stare at him with big eyes.

When the anticipated night finally arrives, the dinner begins calmly enough. We have a fresh spinach, pinenuts, and pomegranate salad and I pour a Côte de Beaune. Obie raises an unimpressed eyebrow and I pretend I’m worried. I let him think he has me on the ropes. I even serve the wasabi-encrusted ahi so that he calls me names. He disparages my kitchen and denigrates my olive oil. I’m smiling on the inside.

The denouement is delicious. When I pull the cheese board out of hiding, his smirk disappears. He looks worried for the first time in years. I lay the board down in front of him. There’s a knife, a few slices of Acme bread, and a wedge of golden, bulging brie de Meaux. He spreads a dollop, glances at me with panic, and takes a bite. “My God,” he says, and his eyes flash ecstasy, jealousy, admiration, and defeat all at once.
 
Man of Honour
Joined
24 Sep 2005
Posts
35,487
Ha, that was good :D

Now where is that OCUK thread on 'Sorry, buying this cheese is illeagal, you are not 18'?

(I still can't find it....)
 
Soldato
Joined
18 Oct 2002
Posts
3,798
Location
Somewhere in the U.K.
MOUSEBENDER:
Good Morning.

WENSLEYDALE:
Good morning, sir. Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium.

MOUSEBENDER:
Ah, thank you my good man.

WENSLEYDALE:
What can I do for you, sir?

MOUSEBENDER:
Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmond Street just now, skimming through Rogue Herries by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over all peckish.

WENSLEYDALE:
Peckish, sir?

MOUSEBENDER:
Esurient.

WENSLEYDALE:
Eh?

MOUSEBENDER:
(In a broad Yorkshire accent) Eee I were all hungry, like.

WENSLEYDALE:
Ah, hungry.

MOUSEBENDER:
In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, 'a little fermented curd will do the trick'. So I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles.

WENSLEYDALE:
Come again?

MOUSEBENDER:
I want to buy some cheese.

WENSLEYDALE:
Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bouzouki player.

MOUSEBENDER:
Oh, heaven forbid. I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse.

WENSLEYDALE:
Sorry?

MOUSEBENDER:
(In a broad Yorkshire accent) Ooo, I like a nice tune - you're forced to.

WENSLEYDALE:
So he can go on playing, can he?

MOUSEBENDER:
Most certainly. Now then, some cheese please, my good man.

WENSLEYDALE:
Certainly, sir. What would you like?

MOUSEBENDER:
Well, eh, how about a little Red Leicester?

WENSLEYDALE:
I'm afraid we're fresh out of Red Leicester, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Oh never mind, how are you on Tilsit?

WENSLEYDALE:
I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir. We get it fresh on Monday.

MOUSEBENDER:
Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if you please.

WENSLEYDALE:
Ah. It's been on order, sir, for two weeks. I was expecting it this morning.

MOUSEBENDER:
It's not my lucky day, is it? Er, Bel Paese?

WENSLEYDALE:
Sorry, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Red Windsor?

WENSLEYDALE:
Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.

MOUSEBENDER:
Ah. Stilton?

WENSLEYDALE:
Sorry.

MOUSEBENDER:
Emmental? Gruyère?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Any Norwegian Jarlsberger, per chance?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Liptauer?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Lancashire?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
White Stilton?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Danish Blue?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Double Gloucester?

WENSLEYDALE:
..... No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Cheshire?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Dorset Blue Vinney?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Brie, Roquefort, Pont-l'Évêque, Port Salut, Savoyard, Saint-Paulin, Carre-de-L'Est, Bresse-Bleu, Boursin?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Camembert, perhaps?

WENSLEYDALE:
Ah! We have Camembert, yes sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
You do! Excellent.

WENSLEYDALE:
Yes, sir. It's, ah ..... it's a bit runny.

MOUSEBENDER:
Oh, I like it runny.

WENSLEYDALE:
Well, it's very runny, actually, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
No matter. Fetch hither le fromage de la Belle France! M-mmm!

WENSLEYDALE:
I think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
I don't care how ******* runny it is. Hand it over with all speed.

WENSLEYDALE:
Oh .....

MOUSEBENDER:
What now?

WENSLEYDALE:
The cat's eaten it.

MOUSEBENDER:
Has he?

WENSLEYDALE:
She, sir.

(pause)

MOUSEBENDER:
Gouda?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Edam?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Caithness?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Smoked Austrian?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Japanese Sage Darby?

WENSLEYDALE:
No, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
You do have some cheese, do you?

WENSLEYDALE:
Of course, sir. It's a cheese shop, sir. We've got .....

MOUSEBENDER:
No, no, don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.

WENSLEYDALE:
Fair enough.

MOUSEBENDER:
Er, Wensleydale?

WENSLEYDALE:
Yes?

MOUSEBENDER:
Ah, well, I'll have some of that.

WENSLEYDALE:
Oh, I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mr Wensleydale, that's my name.

(pause)


MOUSEBENDER:
Greek Feta?

WENSLEYDALE:
Ah, not as such.

MOUSEBENDER:
Er, Gorgonzola?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Parmesan?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Mozzarella?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Pippo Crème?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Danish Fimboe?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Czech sheep's milk?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?.

WENSLEYDALE:
Not today, sir, no.

(pause)
MOUSEBENDER:
Ah, how about Cheddar?

WENSLEYDALE:
Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Not much ca- It's the single most popular cheese in the world!

WENSLEYDALE:
Not round here, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
And what is the most popular cheese round here?

WENSLEYDALE:
Ilchester, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Is it.

WENSLEYDALE:
Oh yes, sir. It's staggeringly popular in this manor, squire.

MOUSEBENDER:
Is it.

WENSLEYDALE:
It's our number-one best seller, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
I see. Ah, Ilchester, eh?

WENSLEYDALE:
Right, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
All right. Okay. Have you got any, he asked expecting the answer no?

WENSLEYDALE:
I'll have a look, sir ..... nnnnnnooooooooo.

MOUSEBENDER:
It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?

WENSLEYDALE:
Finest in the district, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.

WENSLEYDALE:
Well, it's so clean, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese.

WENSLEYDALE:
You haven't asked me about Limberger, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Is it worth it?

WENSLEYDALE:
Could be.

MOUSEBENDER:
Have you- SHUT THAT BLOODY BOUZOUKI UP!

WENSLEYDALE:
(To dancers) Told you so.

MOUSEBENDER:
Have you got any Limburger?

WENSLEYDALE:
No.

MOUSEBENDER:
That figures. Predictable really, I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:

WENSLEYDALE:
Yes, sir?

MOUSEBENDER:
Have you in fact got any cheese here at all?

WENSLEYDALE:
Yes, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Really?

(pause)
WENSLEYDALE:
No. Not really, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
You haven't.

WENSLEYDALE:
No, sir, not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
Well, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.

WENSLEYDALE:
Right-O, sir.

MOUSEBENDER:
(Shoots him) What a senseless waste of human life.
 
Permabanned
Joined
18 May 2006
Posts
9,036
It's only recently been decided that muslims can eat cheese.

umm, what a pointless life it is if you need a bunch of beardies to decide if cheese is OK or not. :rolleyes:

it's the kind of thing that'll make you want to loose a few rockets. (while playing quake)


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