Casu Marzu

July 7, 2021 / Stella Maris & Flying Fish / 22 Comments

Eating the Rare Sardinian Delicacy of Maggot-Infested Cheese

^{Cheese aficionados pair maggot-infested casu marzu with traditional carasau bread and a good local red wine such as Cannonau. Lots of Cannonau. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas}

In the spirit of, “I may never pass this way again,” I could not leave Sardinia without first having eaten casu marzu–the rare and illegal delicacy of maggot-infested cheese. What could go wrong?

Translation first: Casu marzu in Italian literally means, “putrid, rotten cheese.” The beauty of the Italian language is that it is direct; Italians say exactly what they mean. Casu marzu is not a “fragrant” cheese or a “bold” cheese. Casu marzu is a decomposing cheese. It is crawling with worms. And Italians will risk breaking the law just to get a taste of it.

The creation of a fine casu marzu begins normally enough as a classic sheep’s milk pecorino. Then the process gets a little weird. The cheese is left outside in the heat of summer with part of the rind removed. This attracts the cheese fly, Piophilidae, which can lay more than 500 eggs at one time. The larvae hatch and emerge as translucent white worms eating through the cheese. The process then goes from fermentation to a stage of decomposition, brought about by the acid from the maggots’ digestive system breaking down the cheese fats. The cheese texture becomes soft and creates a weeping liquid called làgrimas–teardrops. By the time it is ready for consumption, a typical casu marzu will contain thousands of maggots.

When I first asked about casu marzu, the local formaggiaio in Carloforte wagged his finger at me and then turned away. A street vendor was more forthcoming. “There is an open market on Wednesday,” he said. “Follow your nose.” At the open market, there were several cheese vendors. One said, in English, “Casu marzu? Of course. We have.” When he showed me the cheese, I asked where the worms were. “Ah,” he said, “the worms were here, but now they have gone away.” Casu marzu is considered by many Sardinians to be unsafe to eat when the maggots in the cheese have died.

Another cheese vendor, working out of the back of a truck, was cautiously watching our exchange. That’s the guy, I thought.

When I asked him for casu marzu he looked to his right, then looked to his left, and said, “Sei la polizia?” I laughed, “Do I look like the police?” He laughed and pulled out a white plastic construction bucket he had hidden under a table near his truck. When he took the towel off the top of the bucket it was filled with wheels of foul-smelling cheese crawling with worms. “I’ll buy a half-kilo,” I said, “but please hold the cheese in your hands so that I can make a photograph.” His face went serious. He shook his head no and then held out his arms with his wrists crossed like he was in handcuffs. “No photo,” he said. “Formaggio, si. Io, no.”

Casu marzu presents an interesting paradox for Italian cheese aficionados. It has been considered illegal by the Italian government since 1962, due to laws that prohibit the consumption of food infected by parasites. Those who sell casu marzu can face fines up to €50,000. European regulators in 2002 reinforced the law making the cheese illegal not only in Italy but also in all the common EU markets. Casu marzu is also illegal in the United States.

The cheese remains a revered delicacy. Despite official health concerns, Sardinians consider casu marzu safe. (Sardinia has the highest percentage of people living to 100 years or beyond. The proportion of centenarians in the population is twice the rate considered normal for the rest of the world.) Also, as a traditional product of Sardinia, it is locally protected, although it still remains available only on the black market. There is, however, a formal proposal pending before the EU to give casu marzu DOP (Protected Designation of Origin) status like other cheeses and fine wines.

So what is it like to eat cheese infested with worms? You had better enjoy eating strong cheese, and cover your eyes. Casu marzu has the taste and texture of aged gorgonzola, but it moves. Writer Kara Goldfarb describes it best:

^{“When eating the cheese, one is meant to close their eyes. It’s not to avoid looking at the maggots as you eat them but to protect your eyes from them. When bothered, the maggots will jump up, sometimes going as high as six inches. Next tip, it is imperative for one to properly chew and kill the maggots before swallowing. Otherwise, they can live in the body and rip holes through the intestines… The next step is less of a safety precaution and more of a way to just enhance the culinary experience. It’s advised to enjoy the casu marzu with a moistened flatbread. It also pairs well with a glass of strong red wine. Potentially because the two go well together, possibly because of the added liquid courage.”}

In the end, being able to taste casu marzu is a cultural experience that I consider a necessity of travel. I remember eating the fruit durian when I was sailing through Sumatra. It smelled like raw sewage but tasted like a rich custard. Years ago, in a no-name restaurant in the Chinese ghetto off Tiananmen Square, I asked for the house specialty and was served a bull’s penis. These are the things that make our journeys rewarding.

^{Yes, those are maggots crawling out of the cheese… Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas}

^Sources:

^{“Maggot Cheese,” Gordon Ramsey, https://youtu.be/vZ_-JzM-YQg}

^{“Casu Marzu Cheese Is Dangerous, Illegal, And Filled With Maggots,” ATI, Kara Goldfarb}

^{“Cazu Martzu,” Wikipedia}

^{“Most Rotten Cheese,” The World’s Worst: A Guide to the Most Disgusting, Hideous, Inept, and Dangerous People, Places, and Things on Earth, Mark Frauenfelder}

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

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Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

^{Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives –Fr. John Baker}

Kidney Stones at Sea

May 27, 2021May 27, 2021 / Stella Maris & Flying Fish / 19 Comments

^{Okay, I’m in Italy; a little drama is permitted… But, trying to pass kidney stones while sailing alone is no laughing matter. This fashionable model for the anti-spasmodic tonic Schoum Forte clearly shares my pain. Illustration credit: Soluzion Schoum Forte}

There was that full horizontal knockdown from a rogue wave roaring out of the Southern Ocean. Also during these travels around the globe aboard Flying Fish: I cleaved open my scalp on a sharp edge of fiberglass, I broke a tooth, I nearly severed a toe. And, by the grace of God, I somehow avoided COVID-19 despite being in a crowded market in Langkawi during Chinese New Year in February 2020. Yet, no drama I have experienced compares with trying to pass a kidney stone alone on this boat.

I am on the island of San Pietro in Sardinia today. Carloforte is a lovely town, even through this lens of pulsating pain emanating from the area of my kidneys. There are no internists or urologists here, so I am self-diagnosing. I sought confirmation from a local pharmacist who winced at my Italian and then recommended an anti-spasmodic kidney detox tonic called Soluzione Schoum Forte. The tonic looks like a local Vermentino, but unfortunately, it doesn’t taste like one. First failed lesson: Understand the dosage: I thought, “due cucchiai da tavola, quattro-sei volte al giorno” meant, “take four to six spoonfuls twice a day.” Wrong. I got it backward. In the aftermath of that first triple dosage, I thought I would see that little girl with the spinning head from the Exorcist.

It is estimated by the National Kidney Foundation that one in ten people will have a kidney stone at some time in their lives. Hopefully it won’t happen on a boat in a distant port-of-call. Kidney stones form when certain chemicals become concentrated enough in the urine to form crystals. These crystals grow, and as they make their way through the urinary tract, it hurts.

“Is this what killed Popeye?”
^{Peta Owens-Liston, ARUP Laboratories Science Writer}

There are a lot of myths about what causes and prevents kidney stones. They can be caused by various conditions, including diet, dehydration, medications, infections, and genetics. Foods rich in oxalate, such as spinach, can contribute to stone formation. One thing is sure, passing a kidney stone is memorable. “It woke me up in the middle of the night. It left me gasping and sobbing. Screaming. Someone was sticking a knife in me and slowly turning it,” medical correspondent Petra Owens-Liston writes.

Preventative measures include changes to your diet. I don’t drink enough water when I am on the boat, I use too much salt, I enjoy coffee and good wine. Those can all lead to dehydration and, ultimately, kidney stones. Remedies can include medically blasting the kidney with sonic waves to break up stones. As a last resort, kidney stones can be surgically removed. One friend suggested a more straightforward solution. Her brother had a kidney stone and he felt the pain move down his back as the stone proceeded through the urinary tract. “Jump up and down a lot,” she said. “Gravity is your friend.” My Plan B to help move things along is to try a massage therapist; my happy ending would be the exorcism of this demon that lives in my plumbing.

^{Those are not seashells. A collection of kidney stones from ARUP Laboratories}

With all seriousness, I realize that passing a kidney stone is a “first world problem.” To those who are truly suffering from more severe events in their lives, I mean no affront. We tend to focus on our own little orbit, especially when we are alone. Still, it is helpful to remember that there are more serious issues outside of our personal bubble.

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

^{Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives –Fr. John Baker}

Passing in the Night

May 14, 2021May 15, 2021 / Stella Maris & Flying Fish / 23 Comments

^{Early morning landfall in Italy after crossing the Stretto di Sicilia between Africa and Europe. © Jeffrey Cardenas}

From the Log of Flying Fish: 10 May 2021

I am sailing tonight through a chokepoint of continents.

Sicily and Europe are to starboard; the bright illumination of Palermo is visible far out to sea. To port, in darkness, there is Africa and the Tunisian shoreline once known as the Barbary Coast.

At 04:00 on this moonless night, I see the jaw-dropping silhouette of a mega yacht pushing fast to the east. My AIS shows the vessel as the 532-foot pleasure craft Eclipse, bound for Dubrovnik. Owned by Russian oligarch Roman Abramovich, Eclipse is said to be valued at nearly $1 billion. As it roars past, purple vanity lights under its hull shine deeply into the Mediterranean Sea.

This chokepoint is also one of the primary transit routes for migrants fleeing poverty and politics in Africa. Over 700,000 Africans crossed the Stretto di Sicilia to Italy in the past decade with the hope of opportunity and a new life in Europe. Most migrants leave the African shoreline entrusting their fate to human traffickers who grossly overload small boats of questionable seaworthiness with men, women, and children who can pay the price. Many pay the ultimate price; thousands have drowned making this passage. Human cargo passing through these waters continues to be a frequent, sometimes nightly, occurrence.

I have been thinking about this narrow passage in the Stretto di Sicilia for some time, wondering how I would respond if the shadow of a struggling migrant boat appeared to port, just as the silhouette of Eclipse had appeared to starboard.

If a private vessel, like Flying Fish, makes contact with migrants in the Mediterranean–even to lend assistance–it is an offense punishable by imprisonment from European Union authorities. Captains have been convicted of “human trafficking” for aiding migrants they felt were in distress. The irony is that international maritime law requires a captain to lend assistance to anyone in distress at sea. This legal contradiction would be fascinating to hear debated in a courtroom, but preferably not as a defendant.

Radio traffic is silent from the surveillance aircraft and patrol vessels in the straits tonight. I encounter no migrants on this dark expanse of water.

Larger questions loom: As I sail onward aboard Flying Fish, I wonder what am I doing for the greater global good? How do I reconcile my privilege and opportunity while others flee their homes with only the clothing on their backs? What is the solution? And if I am not a part of the solution, am I a part of the problem?

Along the Barbary Coast, some might argue that what is truly barbaric is the vast economic disparity of those of us aboard ships who are simply passing each other in the night.

###

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

^{Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives –Fr. John Baker}

Traditional Maltese Boats (and Kannoli)

May 8, 2021May 15, 2021 / Stella Maris & Flying Fish / 13 Comments

^{A boat owner paints his luzzu with pride (and a little music from the earbuds) at the traditional fishing harbor of Marsaxlokk in Malta. © Jeffrey Cardenas}

Maltese fishermen come from a long line of seafarers. I watch them moving about in the early morning of Msida Harbour, readying their traditional boats for another day on the water. Brightly painted luzzus and handcrafted rowing dories are loaded with nets and provisions. I am preparing for another day on the water, too. I will leave in a few hours on a 320-mile passage from Malta to Sardinia. I have a long to-do list this morning in Msida, but my attention is diverted by the scent of fresh-from-the-oven Maltese kannoli coming from the Busy Bee Bakery. Hmmm, I think as I turn toward the bakery. A sailor can’t go to sea without proper provisions…

The images of Malta’s traditional boats (not to mention the island’s kannoli) created memories I will carry on departure from this unique island. I arrived in Malta at a difficult time. The island was still in pandemic lockdown. Bars, restaurants, churches (even bakeries!) were closed indefinitely. Life was at a standstill, except at the waterfront. Each day, the sea came alive with fishermen in their traditional multicolored boats. Not even the worst virus in a century could stop the Maltese from going to sea.

It is interesting which images of a place etch into the grey matter and which fade away. I will sail from Malta with a little bit melancholy–there is never enough time–but also with a debt of gratitude. And, if things get rough, I have a sack of fresh-from-the-oven Maltese kannoli to help me along my way.

^{Click on an individual image to see a higher resolution and open a scrolling carousel.}
^{All images © Jeffrey Cardenas}

^Malta’s ^{Busy Bee kannoli. Passage provisions.}

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

^{Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives –Fr. John Baker}

Passage to the Middle Sea

April 9, 2021April 10, 2021 / Stella Maris & Flying Fish / 15 Comments

^{The rigging and foredeck of Flying Fish on passage in light air from Turkey to Malta. © Jeffrey Cardenas}

A passage has a life of its own. Like a good book, there is a beginning, various plotlines, drama, and then it ends. The 680-mile passage of Flying Fish last week across the eastern Mediterranean from Turkey to Malta was no exception.

I felt some anxiety about my routing to Malta through Greek territorial waters. Greece and Turkey prohibit transit between their countries, and their war of words has recently escalated to saber-rattling.
Weather became an issue. A ferocious meltemi wind developed, unforcasted, soon after I departed from Turkey.
I experienced a startling “bump in the night” as Flying Fish’s keel met unseen rocks in a dark anchorage.
The meltemi turned into winter with freezing rain coating the deck.
As I continued into the Mediterranean, hundreds of merchant ships were stalled en route to Suez because a massive container ship had gone aground, closing the entire canal.
And in the middle of it all, I once again lost critical onboard electronics. Both the AIS and the autopilot became inoperative. I was electronically invisible to shipping traffic and, with my autopilot gone, I couldn’t even take my hands off the wheel to pee overboard.

Nobody said this was going to be easy.

The route from Turkey to Malta was an initial point of concern. Travel between ports in Turkey and Greece–COVID notwithstanding–has been shut down for months because of territorial sea disputes. Tensions are inflamed over an area of the continental shelf in the Aegean Sea believed to hold rich oil reserves. Territorial waters give the respective state(s) control over shipping. However, foreign ships usually are guaranteed “innocent passage” through those waters. Nevertheless, the Greek military continued a non-stop VHF radio broadcast, warning all vessels from Turkey not to “violate sovereign waters.” Short of heading several hundred miles south toward Egypt, transit through Greek territorial waters would be the only routing option for Flying Fish to sail west.

The passage began with a raging meltemi wind out of the Aegean. Meltemi winds form when a high-pressure system over Greece meets a low-pressure system over Turkey. North winds near gale force are often created in the chute between the two counter-rotating systems. Flying Fish struggled to make forward progress in steep, short-period seas between the islands. Temperatures plummeted as the northerly wind increased. Fortunately, there are abundant sanctuaries for protection from the meltemi among the Greek Islands. I dropped anchor to get some rest in a protected bay at sparsely inhabited Levitha Island, despite the questionable legality of doing so.

At 3 AM, I awoke to the sound of rock meeting fiberglass–never a good sound–and I realized that Flying Fish was not where I had dropped the anchor. In nearly 12,000 miles of sailing since leaving Key West, I had never, until this night, grounded the keel of Flying Fish. As the meltemi roared in the tight anchorage of Levitha, it created a vortex of wind spinning the boat around the anchor and into a rock below the surface. In my state of exhaustion hours earlier, I had made the cardinal error of situational awareness: I did not thoroughly examine my anchorage and allow adequate swing room. Awakened by this startling bump in the night, I sprung out of my berth, started the engine, winched up the anchor, and checked the bilge. There was no water ingress (external inspection would have to wait.) Flying Fish was floating. In pitch-black darkness and violent wind, I reversed my inward GPS track and motored out of the bay to deeper water. Only then I realized that I was half-naked and very, very cold.

“Being from the tropics, I like ice. I’m just not too fond of it when it comes out of the sky.”

By morning there was sleet on the deck of Flying Fish. Temperatures were above 0°C on deck, but freezing rain was falling from the sky. I was still wet from the night’s activity. Being from the tropics, I like ice. I’m just not too fond of it when it comes out of the sky. I needed to find shelter and regroup. The Greek Waters Pilot guide recommends a secure anchorage at Nísos Íos. The book says of the Manganari Bay anchorage: “The island is extremely popular with young sun-lovers. Nude bathing is tolerated here.” A caïque brings beachgoers “topless and bottomless” daily from Íos. But that wasn’t happening today.

News about the blockage of the Suez Canal was scarce over my satellite reports, but I began to see an unending line of merchant ships jamming the shipping lanes toward Port Said. Deciphering lights, radio calls, radar blips, and other electronic information can be like reading code. Why is one ship moving one way while all the others are doing something different? Much of that information transmits by AIS (Automatic Identification System) to my mapping electronics. The AIS tells me who is navigating the same water as Flying Fish, essential information for collision avoidance. Most of the ships noted on AIS were tankers (empty tankers, it turned out, heading to the Middle East for more oil). One vessel was moving much faster than the others. It was listed on AIS as a “Dredging Operator,” expertise much needed considering the current circumstances. The Suez Canal blockage was now a critical event with global economic implications.

And then–poof!–all of the AIS targets vanished from my navigation screens. Simultaneously, Flying Fish turned abruptly to windward as the autopilot disengaged. Not again! A year earlier, as I began a 3,000-mile passage across the Indian Ocean, Flying Fish experienced an identical system failure. Unable to resolve the problem, I diverted first to Sumatra and afterward to Phuket for repairs (and then came COVID and a circumnavigation interrupted… but that is a different chapter for another day.) Now, 150 miles out of Malta, the situation (it always happens at night) was frustrating but manageable. I would sail the final stretch into the historic Valletta harbor the way my forebears did, using my eyes for navigation and my hands to steer. Even at night, every cloud has a silver lining.

^{The historic walled city of Valletta, Malta glows in the evening light. Photograph © Jeffrey Cardenas}

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

^{Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives –Fr. John Baker}

Stella Maris Sail

New Horizons

Travel

Casu Marzu

Eating the Rare Sardinian Delicacy of Maggot-Infested Cheese

Kidney Stones at Sea

Passing in the Night

From the Log of Flying Fish: 10 May 2021

Traditional Maltese Boats (and Kannoli)

Passage to the Middle Sea