The Cocaine of Cheeses

The home was well lit from the outside. The dog-chewed leather furniture smelled antique. The house stood tall amongst the rest. It had an air of nobility, if a structure could have such. It sat in a row of Wilmington, Delaware Colonials. Its brick facade welcomed anyone ready to rest and live. A couple stepped out of a blue, vintage, midsize European coupe. A white van rumbled by and parked a few yards away from the house. Calloway Simms saw this and shrugged.

They walked casually. The evening air was cool but not biting. Constance Broge and Simms stifled smiles and giggles. They walked from the driveway through the garage, as that space contained, books, exercise equipment, old magazines, and tools.

They entered the house.

“Are you ready?” Simms asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” Constance said, excitement bubbling up in her throat. Simms grabbed her hand, and led her to the kitchen. He flipped on the light. Two dishes, a bottle of Merlot, two glasses and a candle sat on the table.

“You didn’t. On our first date? Awww,” Constance said. He pulled out her chair, and allowed her to get comfy. He lit the candle, and turned out the light.

“Now, this is the part of the show where you close your eyes,” he said. Constance, who was twenty-six, followed Simms’ instruction. The twenty-eight year old went over to his pantry. He picked up a plate with a pale yellow cheese wheel on it. In the glow of the candle, however, it appeared almost tan.

Constance sat like a model preparing to be sketched. Her eyes remained closed. Simms brought the wheel on the plate to the table.

“Open up!” he exclaimed.

Constance frowned at the pungent aroma. She opened her eyes. “What is this?”

Simms withdrew a knife from the drawer. A fly flew up and hovered around the candlelight. Simms brought out from the same pantry a breadbox. He sliced two pieces of pane carasau, a Sardinian bread.

“This, my dear, is casu martzu made from goat’s milk. It is literally rotten cheese.”

“And you expect me to eat this? Isn’t it like the cocaine of cheeses?”

Simms sighed. “It took a lot of doing to get this up here, but I think you’re more right than you can imagine. It required a trip all the way from Miami, just like the party powder. I think if people want to take drugs, let them. The same goes for cheese. What business is it of the government to outlaw it?”

Constance put her hand to her forehead, exhausted. “You’ve brought this maggot-filled cheese to me on our first date?!”

“Once you try it, you will change your attitude. Just relax,” Simms said. He took the knife and slathered the creamy, milky, wormy stuff all over the piece of bread and placed it on Constance’s plate. He did the same for himself. He opened the bottle of Merlot and poured them each a glass, then took a seat.

“This is exclusively from Sardinia, and is outlawed in America and Europe. So to get it here to Delaware took some time and money, but here it is before us right now. Let’s have a bite!”

The maggots wriggled like infants on a playmat. The creamy texture at least looked appetizing.

“We’re going to bite down together. Here, let’s interlock our arms and feed each other. Now, I must warn you to chew through the cheese completely. The maggots must be mashed up in your mouth or else you risk them eating through your stomach or causing something called enteric myiasis.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s severe nausea and stomach cramps.”

“That’s reassuring,” she said wryly.

Constance, with more than an ounce of fear on her face, followed Simms’ instruction. “Close your eyes, again. The maggots like to jump. On the count of three,” he said.

“One...two...three,” They crunched down on the bread and cheese and let the richness envelop and delight their taste buds.

Simms held a hand to his face to obscure his mouth. “Remember to chew,” he said through chomps of the cheese and bread.

Constance did her best to ensure every writhing maggot had been struck down in her mouth. She brought two fingers from her right hand up to her mouth. A simple smile stretched across her face.

“Good, right?” Simms asked, beaming.

“I can’t lie. It’s actually kind of tasty,” Constance said. “The maggots are a bit weird, but once you get past them, there’s a definite flavor that lingers. How the hell did you get it up here?”

“It’s a connection I have in Florida that ships this glorious food with other legal cheese. They get packaged away with this beauty, and then put on docks where vans come to pick up the cheese. There’s a law against it, but the feds are mainly on the lookout for narcotics and sex traffickers. Cheese isn’t a high priority.”

Constance took a sip of wine and laughed.

“What?”

“That’s a long process just to get some cheese to these shores.”

“I know. I just looked it up on the Web and saw a famous chef stuffing his face with it. I was intrigued. I figured I had to get my hands on that ooey-gooey, maggoty magic.” He sipped as well.

Constance took another bite and sipped.

She swallowed. “The pairing is fantastic!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Then worry lines appeared over her eyebrows like stripes on a nautical shirt.

Simms looked serious. “Con’! What’s wrong?”

“I think I swallowed a few maggots!”

Simms’ mind went into overdrive. It slowed while his heart thumped like an elephant’s foot on the ground. He shot from his chair and went over to her. On their first official date together, he was about to see what he could do to get Constance healthy again.

“Okay, breathe. Are you sure you ingested them?”

“Yes.” She said, her voice quavering.

Simms thought a 9-1-1 call would lead agents to discover the contraband cheese, so that was out of the question. He thought quickly. He grabbed his phone and searched exactly what to do in a case such as this. He happened upon an entry that would require Constance to swallow water. He switched on the light.

Simms scrambled to the cupboard to get a glass. He grabbed one, and brought it to the faucet and filled it. He turned to her and found her holding a service pistol in her right hand, and an FBI badge in the other. She had already alerted other agents.

“I guess cheese is a high priority.” FBI agents stormed through the door. Simms’ face turned stony serious. He raised his hands in the air. One agent opened his pantry. He found about ten to twelve wheels taped tight behind an enclosure to block the smell.

“Looks like you’re going to have more than a $60,000 fine on your hands, son,” the agent said.

Simms looked at Constance the entire time he was being carted away with hands cuffed behind his back. Constance took one last sip of the wine, blew out the candle, switched off the light and walked out of the kitchen.