This is probably illegal in The Netherlands.
Whatever you do, please don’t tell our friends at the Wednesday market.
The Netherlands is known the world over as a liberal, tolerant, and progressive nation.
But I might have overstepped my bounds.
In going over the potential court case, I must certainly have on my side that it was available at a regular shop. Not in some shady alley or through the window of a car parked on the corner.
I’m also not going to resell it. I do realize that there are different aspects of the laws:
Yes, I, Bradley CHarbonneau, resident of The Netherlands, made the purchase. I was then in possession. But I did not have nor do I have any intention of resale.
In fact, most of the product is gone.
I don’t know the age limits on this one, but I did supply it to two 12-years olds and then three more 14-year olds. I can completely understand how they would want to make their own purchases and I even experienced the whole addiction mindset myself to the point where I thought that I might want to bring in professional help.
For the record, as stated here on December 15, 2017, with intent to distribute to minors, I purchased processed cheese.
This wasn’t even smoked Gouda, which, see article 7a, even the so-called “Kaas Boer” sells at the Wednesday market. Please know that those two fine upstanding gentlemen at the marketplace had no participation in my action. He called that smoked Gouda “for the tourists.”
This was worse. Far worse. I completely acknowledge my actions and am prepared to do my time.
This was processed, sliced, and individually wrapped “cheddar” (or cheddar-like substance) for a cheeseburger. (Here the term cheeseburger” used loosely as what was in that wrapper was, according to the Dutch Cheese Ordinance of 1437, clearly not cheese.
Still, it was good. No, really good.
It brought me back to the junior high cafeteria (a hidden source of culinary inspiration, but that’s a conversation for another time) where, in between a bun that stays “fresh” for weeks if not months, and melted on top of a meat-like puck pretty much single handedly fueled the excellence of my youth. Other than the sparkle I have in my left eye, I’m perfectly healthy–and I can thank processed “American” cheese for it.
I rest my case. I will pay the price.
My sons and their friends might never be the same for it. They all signed confidentiality agreements so their parents won’t know they partook in the foreign substance and if anyone brings it up, I will deny any of it happened and say that it was sliced jong belegen that fell into the chemical vat out back that I use to de-ice the streets.
That’s my final argument. Although it might crack certain moral, ethical, and culinary laws, I stand by my actions as it was just a really good burger.
Do what you may with me. I do not deny my actions and I’ll probably do it again. In fact, I could probably keep using what I have left over as it will be “good” for another few years (with refrigeration).