Confessions of a food smuggler

Tempting spices from Rajastan, India

With the holidays coming up, I decided it was time to clean out my kitchen cupboards. What I found was a culinary snapshot of my year of travels. There was a tin of laver bread (seaweed) from Wales, a jar of smoked mussels from the Magdalen Islands, a chunk of rather scary-looking Cap Rond Jeune cheese from Quebec City and some still-fragrant nutmeg from Grenada.

Many people come home from their trips laden with exotic home decor or other souvenir items. Me, I carry home food and booze.

When I hit the streets in a foreign country, my itinerary always includes a stop at a local supermarket or street stall. Nothing is too obscure to consider. A jar of dried chiles, a ring of garlic sausage or a 10-pound jug of olive oil from Spain – they’ve all made it back to Canada.

As a result, I live in fear of the Canada Border Services Agency .  Those teams of tail-wagging sniffer dogs make me break out in a cold sweat. While I haven’t yet been thrown in jail for food smuggling, I know that I’m often just a tail-wag away from prosecution.

Some of my culinary scores – Salsa Huichol (Riviera Nayarit), Manchego cheese (Spain) and Ron de Zacapa (Guatemala) and Dijon mustard (France)-  have even changed my life.

Sure, I could have bought most of these items at Pusateri’s in Toronto, but that would have shut out the sensory experience of browsing foreign markets with their unique smells, free samples and enthusiastic vendors.

So if you stop by my house this holiday season don’t be surprised if you find me drinking gluhwein out of one of my mugs gathered from last year’s tour of Germany’s Christmas Markets. I’ll be daydreaming of the lebkuchen  I left behind.