Sir, that depends on the type of cheese...
Dec 22, 2017, 9:45 am
#1
Original Poster
Join Date: Oct 2017
Location: Surrey
Programs: BAEC - Gold
Posts: 882
Sir, that depends on the type of cheese...
Comedy moment at NCE recently. We had been staying in an Airbnb and so had some leftovers from the week in the fridge - rillettes and various cheeses, along with some bread. So, we brought it along to the airport as a lounge picnic. Concious of the rules on liquids (and it was a warm day), and mainly in jest, we asked the BA check-in staff about bringing the cheese through security - it would have been sacrilege to bin such yummy cheese (and after Muller Rice-gate at LGW a few weeks previously I was nervous). Could there be any more French an answer than “Sir, that depends on the type of cheese, we have over 400 in France. If it’s a gruyere, that is fine, but a Camembert or Brie might be a problem, and has the rillettes been out of the fridge for a while?”. I’m not sure I could imagine that response in the UK, or anywhere else...
The cheese and rillettes made it through unscathed and went down very nicely with the lounge bubbles.
TFC
The cheese and rillettes made it through unscathed and went down very nicely with the lounge bubbles.
TFC
Last edited by TheFlyingCyclist; Dec 22, 2017 at 9:51 am
Dec 22, 2017, 9:57 am
#2
Join Date: Nov 2014
Location: North East
Programs: Hilton HHonors, BAEC Silver
Posts: 1,204
A comical, concise answer, but quite accurate non the less.
I do seem to recall an anecdotal story regarding the transportation of Swiss cheese through an airport scanner some time ago from a legendary FT lurker. If my memory serves me correctly, said carrier was stopped and questioned at length. The upshot being that certain cheese consistencies show up a very similar make up to semtex for security agents watching the monitors.
Dec 22, 2017, 12:45 pm
#3
FlyerTalk Evangelist
Join Date: Nov 2008
Programs: AA EXP/LTP, BA GGL/CCR/GfL, HH D/LTD, SPG/MR Plat/LTP
Posts: 10,076
Another experience with cheese, flying from NCE:
Many years ago I was travelling with a group of colleagues to an International Congress in Nice. The group reservation TA made a mistake, so no return journey after congress closure at lunchtime. Instead, we were booked on an afternoon flight the next day. Time was spent taking a bus ride to the picturesque little city of Grasse, 'capital' of perfume production.
As I had a fridge in my hotel room, I made a quick visit to the v-e-r-y well-assorted cheese shop some 50m from the hotel entrance. Four unpasteurized cheeses in beautiful packages in a glossy pink paper bag found its way to the room fridge, needing to be switched on. Shower, dress and dinner followed.
After dinner and some drinks, back to the room to find fridge not working. Front desk staff politely declined to take any guest items into big kitchen fridge, regardless if from a well-known source. Next morning, we had a visit to a perfume factory, the cheese bag stayed in the bus, certainly giving another fragrance on returning to the bus, than what we experienced at the perfume manufacturer. As it was early September, despite some half functioning AC in the bus, nothing could not help preventing the cheeses continuing to mature in aroma.
Check-in posed no problems, it was before 9/11. Asked about contents of the pink bag, my answer was - Edible souvenirs from France. Sitting in 1C, pink bag was protected from beeing crushed in the overhead compartment with the help of two books, my carry-on and some pillows. Surprisingly, the cheeses were not making people upset during the flight.
At disembarking, however, there were passengers outside our group who commented the 'smell'. Beeing first in line to get off the plane, still waiting for the door to open, behind me was a CC, and propably emanating from the now rather massive aroma reaching her nose, asked the Purser, who was at the door to check 'if the toilet had the same malfunction as on the flight to Madrid last week' (!)
Calling from the airport to have a nice Bordeaux opened , an hour and a half later, a very nice, although late, wine and cheese experience. Most of the 'souvenirs' were saved for the weekend, though.
Many years ago I was travelling with a group of colleagues to an International Congress in Nice. The group reservation TA made a mistake, so no return journey after congress closure at lunchtime. Instead, we were booked on an afternoon flight the next day. Time was spent taking a bus ride to the picturesque little city of Grasse, 'capital' of perfume production.
As I had a fridge in my hotel room, I made a quick visit to the v-e-r-y well-assorted cheese shop some 50m from the hotel entrance. Four unpasteurized cheeses in beautiful packages in a glossy pink paper bag found its way to the room fridge, needing to be switched on. Shower, dress and dinner followed.
After dinner and some drinks, back to the room to find fridge not working. Front desk staff politely declined to take any guest items into big kitchen fridge, regardless if from a well-known source. Next morning, we had a visit to a perfume factory, the cheese bag stayed in the bus, certainly giving another fragrance on returning to the bus, than what we experienced at the perfume manufacturer. As it was early September, despite some half functioning AC in the bus, nothing could not help preventing the cheeses continuing to mature in aroma.
Check-in posed no problems, it was before 9/11. Asked about contents of the pink bag, my answer was - Edible souvenirs from France. Sitting in 1C, pink bag was protected from beeing crushed in the overhead compartment with the help of two books, my carry-on and some pillows. Surprisingly, the cheeses were not making people upset during the flight.
At disembarking, however, there were passengers outside our group who commented the 'smell'. Beeing first in line to get off the plane, still waiting for the door to open, behind me was a CC, and propably emanating from the now rather massive aroma reaching her nose, asked the Purser, who was at the door to check 'if the toilet had the same malfunction as on the flight to Madrid last week' (!)
Calling from the airport to have a nice Bordeaux opened , an hour and a half later, a very nice, although late, wine and cheese experience. Most of the 'souvenirs' were saved for the weekend, though.
Dec 22, 2017, 1:08 pm
#4
Join Date: Dec 2016
Programs: BAEC GGL/CR; Hilton Diamond; Mucci des Puccis
Posts: 5,609
From a previous online life, and before this thread gets moved off to the fridge, here is a true story about cheese:
I have always been a bit of a fan of extreme cheese. When one has tasted the delights of the “Puant de Lille” (literally, the Stinker of Lille), or another, arguably the smelliest cheese in existence, Limburg, which, incidentally, was used to prosecute a bitter feud involving variously a radiator, a weekend, the back of a desk drawer, and an office fan by two colleagues in my company’s French office, the rather scrubbed and sanitized specimens of yellow plastic one finds in even the most adventurous English supermarket are less than inspiring. As a rule, if you can’t smell the cheese department from about 3 miles downwind of the shop, it is worthy of little more than contempt.
So I never miss an opportunity to obtain a little of the more advanced variety, freely available just across the Channel (please, stop snickering at the back, I mean cheese). And if I have a colleague who is travelling across, I always make a point of asking if he or she would be so kind as to pick me up a nice Camembert au Lait Cru (in other words, unpasteurised, which is to say heaving with delicious Gallic micro-organisms).
So one summer, I made such a routine request to a Chinese friend who was travelling on holiday to France with his wife (a delightful Thai whose demure exterior and tranquil charm obscured the fact that her maniacal culinary applications of mass quantities of chili were responsible for 75% of the internal burns cases at the local A&E, including most of the particularly embarrassing ones. However, I digress).
Now I believe I read somewhere that the Chinese are short of an enzyme or bacterium in their digestive tract that makes it difficult for them to digest dairy products; whatever the truth of this, the cheese certainly does not figure in any of the Chow Mein variants I am aware of. Anyway, the practical upshot of this state of affairs was something of a lack of experience in matters cheese on the part of my friend.
The day of the holiday arrived. My friend, anxious to fulfil his part of the bargain, stopped his car at the first roadside cheese stall he encountered, located a nice squishy camembert (poking it in the expert manner in which I had carefully instructed him), made the purchase, and placed the carefully wrapped package on the back parcel shelf of his car.
Now it was August, and a particularly hot one at that.
The horrific results can only be imagined, as they unfolded during the course of the long weekend. The gradual sense of creeping unease and the checking of socks; the return from the excursion to the beach to find a car steamed up from the inside, full of noxious vapour; the attempts to blame this on the French drains. And so on.
Still, to his credit, my friend did not simply, as many would have done (and despite the risk to his marriage, or at the very least the very present danger of an impending death by chilli), deposited the offending item in the nearest “poubelle” to be dealt with by authorities “bien protege” with the correct cheese disposal equipment, but kept it on the back parcel shelf throughout his long weekend and proudly came into the office with it (albeit somewhat at arms length) on his return, whereupon he proceeded to plop it inscrutably onto my desk, where it sat, quivering.
This was not, I have to say, the wisest course of action. Our building is modern, and has won awards. Specifically it has won awards for its novel and ingenious ventilation system, wherein a cunning system of ducts and fans draws air from one part of the building and circulates it elsewhere, maintaining a cool and breezy ambiance at all times, with the exception of those times when a somewhat overripe Camembert au Lait Cru is placed directly beneath one of the intake ducts. In which case, the scene more closely resembles that part of a James Bond film where the Ninja arrive through the roof and everyone piles out of the secret underground base through the windows before it blows up.
Those of us blessed with children, however, will know that one very rapidly gets accustomed to anything, however disgusting, and so once the initial waves of nausea had subsided a little, I cautiously approached within pencil-poking distance of what I can only describe as a seething, undulating, pulsating mass of living cheese. On being touched it made soothing gloop gloop noises, and wobbled with apparent pleasure.
I felt I had at least made friends, but this did not alter the fact that the Health and Safety representative was circling with dark intent (and full protective clothing). Somehow my cheese and I had to make it through the day.
I tried several techniques to mitigate the effects of the problem. An attempt to calm the cheese by placing it in the executive Management team fridge was, I regret to say, a disaster, as the residual odour contaminated their milk for several weeks and I believe has cost me at least one promotion (it was not so much that I had offended the management team so much as I had offended the management team secretary, which of course is where the true power lies).
However eventually I found a place for the cheese at a spare desk in the hardware department. To their credit, they took to it as if it were one of their own. And since no-one knows precisely where the design for the very clever switch mode PSU in our most recent product came from, I think there is every chance that kindness was repaid with kindness. I would like to think so.
The day slowly drew to a close, and I proudly took my cheese in my hands to present to my delightful and fragrant wife, purchasing an authentic French stick on the way home in anticipation of what the French so aptly term the “degustation”.
My wife is a kind and understanding woman. She has to be, you will say, to put up with me (I know you will say that, because everyone does). However on this occasion, she had evidently got out of bed the wrong side, and the rather steely regard with which she fixed me and my precious prize did seem to indicate that she was in a mood that I can only portray as less than receptive to what I was beginning to regard as a lifeform in its own right, a friend almost. In the spirited exchange of views that followed, it became clear that it would not be allowed in the house, let alone fridge, and that I would do well to remove it as far away as possible.
I therefore repaired to the garden, my baguette sous les bras (to “mes lecteurs anglais”, I should point out this is a highly amusing bilingual joke that will amply repay a study of French slang), ready at last to tuck into the delights of a real camembert au lait cru, juste au point.
I placed the camembert carefully on the ground in an isolated spot, far from the prying eyes of the neighbours, and gingerly cut into it. The cheese let out a soft slurping noise, then a gentle moaning sound, and its golden treasure poured forth.
I must say that what was peculiar about this particular cheese was that it was evidently self healing. As I cut a slice, the wound drew immediately itself together and the cheese was renewed, seemingly without any loss of volume. I must say that my excitement at having what thereby seemed to be a limitless supply of cheese was only tempered by the effects of being slightly overcome by ammonia poisoning
There are many who would have baulked at this point, and not carefully spread some of the resultant sticky goo onto their French stick, and tentatively tasted it. But not me. If not exactly a conventional experience (the best way of describing it would be as concentrated fermented essence of summer sports sock), it was perfectly acceptable. But I was left with a certain residual guilt: the same sort of mixture of feelings one gets when one has just enjoyed one’s pet rabbit served up in a nice mustard sauce. Obviously I could go no further, and wept openly at the realisation that for the good of the neighbourhood (we have had a good few years for house prices, and it would be a shame to spoil things), and for my cheese, we had come to the parting of the ways. Probably the fumes had something to do with it too.
So, anyone out late that night would have been surprised to see me with a spade, digging a neat hole in a secluded part of the lawn. The cheese is now carefully interred in the garden, where I am certain it is still living, and perhaps evolving further, Quatermass style.
But, I assure you, it can be brought out at only 45 minutes notice if required.
I have always been a bit of a fan of extreme cheese. When one has tasted the delights of the “Puant de Lille” (literally, the Stinker of Lille), or another, arguably the smelliest cheese in existence, Limburg, which, incidentally, was used to prosecute a bitter feud involving variously a radiator, a weekend, the back of a desk drawer, and an office fan by two colleagues in my company’s French office, the rather scrubbed and sanitized specimens of yellow plastic one finds in even the most adventurous English supermarket are less than inspiring. As a rule, if you can’t smell the cheese department from about 3 miles downwind of the shop, it is worthy of little more than contempt.
So I never miss an opportunity to obtain a little of the more advanced variety, freely available just across the Channel (please, stop snickering at the back, I mean cheese). And if I have a colleague who is travelling across, I always make a point of asking if he or she would be so kind as to pick me up a nice Camembert au Lait Cru (in other words, unpasteurised, which is to say heaving with delicious Gallic micro-organisms).
So one summer, I made such a routine request to a Chinese friend who was travelling on holiday to France with his wife (a delightful Thai whose demure exterior and tranquil charm obscured the fact that her maniacal culinary applications of mass quantities of chili were responsible for 75% of the internal burns cases at the local A&E, including most of the particularly embarrassing ones. However, I digress).
Now I believe I read somewhere that the Chinese are short of an enzyme or bacterium in their digestive tract that makes it difficult for them to digest dairy products; whatever the truth of this, the cheese certainly does not figure in any of the Chow Mein variants I am aware of. Anyway, the practical upshot of this state of affairs was something of a lack of experience in matters cheese on the part of my friend.
The day of the holiday arrived. My friend, anxious to fulfil his part of the bargain, stopped his car at the first roadside cheese stall he encountered, located a nice squishy camembert (poking it in the expert manner in which I had carefully instructed him), made the purchase, and placed the carefully wrapped package on the back parcel shelf of his car.
Now it was August, and a particularly hot one at that.
The horrific results can only be imagined, as they unfolded during the course of the long weekend. The gradual sense of creeping unease and the checking of socks; the return from the excursion to the beach to find a car steamed up from the inside, full of noxious vapour; the attempts to blame this on the French drains. And so on.
Still, to his credit, my friend did not simply, as many would have done (and despite the risk to his marriage, or at the very least the very present danger of an impending death by chilli), deposited the offending item in the nearest “poubelle” to be dealt with by authorities “bien protege” with the correct cheese disposal equipment, but kept it on the back parcel shelf throughout his long weekend and proudly came into the office with it (albeit somewhat at arms length) on his return, whereupon he proceeded to plop it inscrutably onto my desk, where it sat, quivering.
This was not, I have to say, the wisest course of action. Our building is modern, and has won awards. Specifically it has won awards for its novel and ingenious ventilation system, wherein a cunning system of ducts and fans draws air from one part of the building and circulates it elsewhere, maintaining a cool and breezy ambiance at all times, with the exception of those times when a somewhat overripe Camembert au Lait Cru is placed directly beneath one of the intake ducts. In which case, the scene more closely resembles that part of a James Bond film where the Ninja arrive through the roof and everyone piles out of the secret underground base through the windows before it blows up.
Those of us blessed with children, however, will know that one very rapidly gets accustomed to anything, however disgusting, and so once the initial waves of nausea had subsided a little, I cautiously approached within pencil-poking distance of what I can only describe as a seething, undulating, pulsating mass of living cheese. On being touched it made soothing gloop gloop noises, and wobbled with apparent pleasure.
I felt I had at least made friends, but this did not alter the fact that the Health and Safety representative was circling with dark intent (and full protective clothing). Somehow my cheese and I had to make it through the day.
I tried several techniques to mitigate the effects of the problem. An attempt to calm the cheese by placing it in the executive Management team fridge was, I regret to say, a disaster, as the residual odour contaminated their milk for several weeks and I believe has cost me at least one promotion (it was not so much that I had offended the management team so much as I had offended the management team secretary, which of course is where the true power lies).
However eventually I found a place for the cheese at a spare desk in the hardware department. To their credit, they took to it as if it were one of their own. And since no-one knows precisely where the design for the very clever switch mode PSU in our most recent product came from, I think there is every chance that kindness was repaid with kindness. I would like to think so.
The day slowly drew to a close, and I proudly took my cheese in my hands to present to my delightful and fragrant wife, purchasing an authentic French stick on the way home in anticipation of what the French so aptly term the “degustation”.
My wife is a kind and understanding woman. She has to be, you will say, to put up with me (I know you will say that, because everyone does). However on this occasion, she had evidently got out of bed the wrong side, and the rather steely regard with which she fixed me and my precious prize did seem to indicate that she was in a mood that I can only portray as less than receptive to what I was beginning to regard as a lifeform in its own right, a friend almost. In the spirited exchange of views that followed, it became clear that it would not be allowed in the house, let alone fridge, and that I would do well to remove it as far away as possible.
I therefore repaired to the garden, my baguette sous les bras (to “mes lecteurs anglais”, I should point out this is a highly amusing bilingual joke that will amply repay a study of French slang), ready at last to tuck into the delights of a real camembert au lait cru, juste au point.
I placed the camembert carefully on the ground in an isolated spot, far from the prying eyes of the neighbours, and gingerly cut into it. The cheese let out a soft slurping noise, then a gentle moaning sound, and its golden treasure poured forth.
I must say that what was peculiar about this particular cheese was that it was evidently self healing. As I cut a slice, the wound drew immediately itself together and the cheese was renewed, seemingly without any loss of volume. I must say that my excitement at having what thereby seemed to be a limitless supply of cheese was only tempered by the effects of being slightly overcome by ammonia poisoning
There are many who would have baulked at this point, and not carefully spread some of the resultant sticky goo onto their French stick, and tentatively tasted it. But not me. If not exactly a conventional experience (the best way of describing it would be as concentrated fermented essence of summer sports sock), it was perfectly acceptable. But I was left with a certain residual guilt: the same sort of mixture of feelings one gets when one has just enjoyed one’s pet rabbit served up in a nice mustard sauce. Obviously I could go no further, and wept openly at the realisation that for the good of the neighbourhood (we have had a good few years for house prices, and it would be a shame to spoil things), and for my cheese, we had come to the parting of the ways. Probably the fumes had something to do with it too.
So, anyone out late that night would have been surprised to see me with a spade, digging a neat hole in a secluded part of the lawn. The cheese is now carefully interred in the garden, where I am certain it is still living, and perhaps evolving further, Quatermass style.
But, I assure you, it can be brought out at only 45 minutes notice if required.
Dec 22, 2017, 1:26 pm
#5
Join Date: Dec 2016
Programs: BAEC GGL/CR; Hilton Diamond; Mucci des Puccis
Posts: 5,609
I do also remember being given a large and beautifully ripe gorgonzola at the Milan expo, and having travelled with hand luggage only had to squash it into a tin in my bag, surrounded by USB cables, which I checked in. It must have looked incredibly suspect in the x-rays, but I was buggered if I was going to let that go, it was a really good one.
I was half expecting to have to follow a trail of traumatised sniffer dogs to find my bag having been subjected to a controlled explosion, with gorgonzola smell everywhere. But fortunately all was well. Great melted on a nice medium rare steak it was.
I was half expecting to have to follow a trail of traumatised sniffer dogs to find my bag having been subjected to a controlled explosion, with gorgonzola smell everywhere. But fortunately all was well. Great melted on a nice medium rare steak it was.
Dec 22, 2017, 1:51 pm
#6
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: SW London
Programs: BAEC Silver; Hilton Diamond;a miscellany of other hotel non-statuses
Posts: 3,607
I impetuously purchased a nice looking round of blue stilton or similar on the first day of a long weekend away. Back at the hotel I opened the door to the minibar cabinet, and put the cheese on the top shelf. After a further afternoon and evening of excursion we returned to a rather niffy room. I'd somehow misunderstood the construction of the minibar. The shelf was in fact outside the chilled area and being steadily warmed by the fridge mechanism. Permanently open windows and use of Do Not Disturb did a lot to dissipate the evidence, and although it kind of lingered for the rest of our stay the hotel never contacted us re an extra cleansing fee.
Suitably matured cheese was delicious for the next week or two
.
Suitably matured cheese was delicious for the next week or two
.
Dec 22, 2017, 2:57 pm
#7
Join Date: Sep 2015
Programs: LH SEN; BA Gold
Posts: 8,405
There's probably someone out there that would've gone done to the front desk, pretend that it wasn't his cheese and ask to be moved since someone left cheese unrefrigerated in the room.
Dec 22, 2017, 3:07 pm
#8
Join Date: Dec 2016
Programs: BAEC GGL/CR; Hilton Diamond; Mucci des Puccis
Posts: 5,609
There's something worse than cheese anyway.
Durian. Regular travellers to SE Asia will know it. They have special machines in Singapore to fumigate rooms where people have illegally consumed it. It's best described as sort of stinky garlic infested custard fruit. And my wife (like most Chinese from the region) absolutely loves it. Oh, the glee on her face when the toddler decided he liked durian flavoured ice cream on the last trip.
There are, genuinely, hotels with buffets in Singapore where the durian pastries are kept in fume cupboards.
Cheese is amateur hour stuff in comparison.
Durian. Regular travellers to SE Asia will know it. They have special machines in Singapore to fumigate rooms where people have illegally consumed it. It's best described as sort of stinky garlic infested custard fruit. And my wife (like most Chinese from the region) absolutely loves it. Oh, the glee on her face when the toddler decided he liked durian flavoured ice cream on the last trip.
There are, genuinely, hotels with buffets in Singapore where the durian pastries are kept in fume cupboards.
Cheese is amateur hour stuff in comparison.
Dec 22, 2017, 5:12 pm
#10
Join Date: Jul 2008
Programs: I am a lowly ant
Posts: 1,751
I had a tinned confit de canard questioned in Malaysia. They had no idea what it was, and while solid at European room temperature, it was likely liquid at that point.
I don't remember what I said but I was insistent it was definitely solid.
I don't remember what I said but I was insistent it was definitely solid.
Dec 22, 2017, 8:58 pm
#12
Original Poster
Join Date: Oct 2017
Location: Surrey
Programs: BAEC - Gold
Posts: 882
I had the misfortune of trying durian ice cream by accident in Vietnam. It was one of those places where you frequently ordered things based on appearance rather than any understanding of the specific ingredients. I still get the taste in my mouth when I think about it; a truly awful experience and, as suggested above, it blows cheese clean out of the water. Urgh...
Dec 22, 2017, 9:27 pm
#13
Join Date: Dec 2016
Location: London
Programs: BAEC Silver
Posts: 88
There's something worse than cheese anyway.
Durian. Regular travellers to SE Asia will know it. They have special machines in Singapore to fumigate rooms where people have illegally consumed it. It's best described as sort of stinky garlic infested custard fruit. And my wife (like most Chinese from the region) absolutely loves it. Oh, the glee on her face when the toddler decided he liked durian flavoured ice cream on the last trip.
There are, genuinely, hotels with buffets in Singapore where the durian pastries are kept in fume cupboards.
Cheese is amateur hour stuff in comparison.
Durian. Regular travellers to SE Asia will know it. They have special machines in Singapore to fumigate rooms where people have illegally consumed it. It's best described as sort of stinky garlic infested custard fruit. And my wife (like most Chinese from the region) absolutely loves it. Oh, the glee on her face when the toddler decided he liked durian flavoured ice cream on the last trip.
There are, genuinely, hotels with buffets in Singapore where the durian pastries are kept in fume cupboards.
Cheese is amateur hour stuff in comparison.
recently stayed at Sofitel Angkor and the hotel specifically bans durians in the rooms.
Once I bought Saint Marcellin cheese (unopened and cling wrapped) and at LYS security the guy asked me what’s in my suitcase, because the terracotta dish holding the cheese obscured the cheese in the scan, I sheepishly answered “fromage” and he was fine with it.
Dec 22, 2017, 9:56 pm
#14
Join Date: Aug 2015
Posts: 87
In France many good cheese shops will vacuum pack your cheese if you ask. That way it stands up better to plane flight and doesn't get whiffy while you travel.
The magic words in French are "sous vide".
The magic words in French are "sous vide".
Last edited by drsabs; Dec 22, 2017 at 10:08 pm
Dec 22, 2017, 10:06 pm
#15
Join Date: Aug 2015
Posts: 87
Bah, durian is for amateurs. 
Try stinky tofu. You can smell it for blocks.
For those who want a recipe, you put some brine in a bucket, add fish and other fermented organic junk, throw in some tofu and leave it all to fester in the hot sun for a few weeks.
Worth a try on your next flight to HK or Taiwain.
Try stinky tofu. You can smell it for blocks.
For those who want a recipe, you put some brine in a bucket, add fish and other fermented organic junk, throw in some tofu and leave it all to fester in the hot sun for a few weeks.
Worth a try on your next flight to HK or Taiwain.