Editor’s Note: Asiago and the Accomplice (Whine & Cheese Cozy Mystery Series) by Judy Volhart is now available. Click here to order your copy.

Eight days into a miserable cold that’s taken grip of my throat and lungs, and three days without a voice, I decided to change things up a bit. I was still drinking the leftover wines from previous articles and it just wasn’t doing the trick. My boyfriend came across a recipe for a shooter that he was sure would kill all germs in its path. I, of course, was willing to try.

Fireball Cinnamon Whisky comes from the Louisiana, U.S.A. region and it packs a punch with 33% alcohol. You will need a large shooter glass for this, or you can mix up a big batch and then pour it into little shooter glass. Use 1 part Fireball, 2 parts cream soda (I used a clear cream soda although I know there’s pink ones on the market). Next, top each shooter glass with whipped cream and sprinkle with cinnamon.

It burned its way down my throat and I imagined it killing all the little germs in its path. Sadly, it didn’t cure my cold, nor did the subsequent ones I had, but it sure lifted my spirits. And, damn, it tasted nice!

Since I was changing things up, I also screwed up the courage to try a stronger cheese that I was not familiar with. With great aplomb, I picked up a nasty looking blue cheese, sniffed, grimaced, and then calmly returned it back to its spot; clearly I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I then sniffed my way through the cheese section at my local grocery until I came across one that looked tame enough, but had a slight foot odor smell seeping out from its packaging.

A Product of England, the Lancashire is a firm ripened cow’s milk cheese. It was crumbly in texture, had a slight odor and a bit of a bite to it; just the right amount of bite to make me proud of myself for trying something a touch stronger than my norm. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

I added some of last week’s Fontina cheese and fennel and wine infused salami to the plate and settled down for what’s become a weekly tradition that we’re all enjoying immensely.

Cheers, my friends.
Judy

We exchanged small talk in between mouthfuls. I knew they would have no issue with the food―this was the fair from my childhood: Hungarian salami, rye bread and Oka cheese. They asked about Hans. I told them he was crazy then asked about their various ailments. They asked about my finances, and I distracted them with more questions about their ailments. That tactic almost always worked. Then the inevitable: Had I met anyone yet? Here was my opening.

“Well. I do have a date tonight. Sorry, I’ll have to leave you on your own for a couple of hours. This is my first date with him, so I didn’t want to cancel. He’ll be picking me up at five o’clock. Here.”

A dozen questions, most of them answered with I dunno. And then, “Is he Hungarian?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s English.”

“You need a good Hungarian boy.”

“I don’t want a Hungarian.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is Canada.”

My dad shook his head and repeated my name sadly a couple of times. He would get over it; he’d had a lifetime of me not living up to his expectations. Remember, I am not an accountant.

—Excerpt from Asiago and The Accomplice (Whine & Cheese Cozy Mystery Series)