First off, let me just note that Sardegna has changed me. I have been blessed with a multitude of new experiences that, for the most part, I have tried and embraced. The big examples of course being food and drink related (can you see a pattern here?) for example cooking, seafood, limoncello and beer. I tolerated these as much as a 4 year old tolerates asparagus. Basically they came hand in hand with temper tantrums and tears. That being said, when I first did my research on this island that would become my temporary home, there were definate points of interest that I knew deep down in my soul I would never have the slightest interest in trying. Blood soup was one of them. And Casu Marzu was the second. 
Now I want you to take quick break from this post for a minute. I want you to hop onto your internet machine and Google “10 most disgusting foods in the world”. Chances are you will find this macerated sin against nature on those lists. But for those who don’t have the time or stomach to delve deeper into the atrocities humans have invented for the sake of nourishment, I’ll just quickly break it down for you; Casu Marzu is a traditional Sardinian sheeps milk cheese that has been deliberately infested with Piophila Casei, or in non scientific terms … Fucking maggots! Oh and did I mention they jump? So not only are you about to eat the worst decision of your life, you also have to be careful they don’t take out your eye first as they try to escape their inevitable death. Fantastic.

 So how is this relevant to me? Well as all horror stories go, it started with eye contact and a temporary lack of survival instincts. A friend and I had decided to go for a stroll around the night markets before we headed to the local wine bar. There was music, there was laughter and there was the contemplation of gelato. But then I made a quick but vital 4 second mistake. The one thing every person knows not to do  when browsing market stalls. Eye contact was made. Eye contact was made with an Sardinian patriot selling his wares. We didn’t stand a chance.

  “Ahh belle ragazze!! Per favore, provate i miei produtti. Una specialità locale buonissima!!” This was yelled in the loudest decibel this guy could manage. He tried to startle us into compliancy. And it totally worked. We tried some of his prosciutto, it was delicious. As was his assorted slices of pecorino sardo. He lulled us into a false sense of security. “Qua” he said, as he thrust a mound of decimated cheese on pane guttiau in front of my nose. “Prova, questa è piu buona”. So I did. Without thinking. And as soon as it passed my lips, I knew it wasn’t kosher. The sharp tang hit my tongue and it just fell apart in my mouth. It was grainy. The smell had permeated the back of my nose. It was inescapable so I swolled it. I looked at the patriot. He just smiled. “Cosa il nome? È…” I asked as I held up my index finger and thumb to indicate something small. “Sì, sì .. Casu Marzu.” My eyes widened. Literally I’ve never heard a more horrific sentence. Lemon sorbet and vodka could not wash away the memory of what I had done. I just felt dirty. I still do now. And I defiantly couldn’t tell my friend what I had unknowingly let her eat.
I’m still so disappointment in myself. I only had two weeks left of this place. And not only did I renege on a self imposed promise to never try that terrible mound of decomposition, I also participated in a crime. As it turns out, the special dish is illegal to sell or distribute to the general public … For a damn good reason. Cheers local food vendor. It’s honestly enough to put me off cheese altogether. Well … Almost enough anyways.