Chef Marc Thuet recently served select foodies his fifth annual wild game dinner. Guests paid $250 apiece to tuck into contraband Scottish grouse (stuffed with foie gras and enveloped in puff pastry), partridge, raw woodcock breast and wood pigeon, birds that Thuet personally smuggled over the U.S. border. Scottish game, Thuet says, is vastly superior to Canada’s farmed offerings, but it isn’t easy to bring it in. Three years ago, when he attempted to import the game legally, his precious birds were left to rot in a customs warehouse while border officials dithered; the bloated carcasses arrived in Toronto two weeks later. Since then, the chef has been working, unsuccessfully, to find an above-board (and dependable) way to import game. But in the meantime, he isn’t letting uptight import rules cramp his style—the smuggling trips, Thuet boasts, are “part of the excitement.” He’s not the only one. A few other chefs and purveyors around town stock forbidden foreign treats: a little sleuthing will unearth real Normandy butter—made with unpasteurized, high-fat cream—and Spanish pata negra, for example. But with increased border security, the risk is genuine. Another chef, who shall remain nameless, was recently busted returning from France with a couple of saucissons sec and now has a red flag on his passport; most epicurean smugglers see fines of up to $400 per item. “Hey, I always declare alcohol and cigarettes,” says Thuet. “They’re just not worth the risk. A grouse, now that’s a different story.”