Limburger Sandwich. People Eat This.

Limburger is a cheese famous for one thing: it stinks. Ripened with Brevibacterium linens, a bacteria more commonly associated with human foot odor, Limburger, when consumed, has a soft interior with a somewhat more rigid rind. The older it gets, the runnier and stinkier it gets.

I first encountered Limburger in high school. At the end of the school year, the Theatre club would hold it’s annual picnic, and during that picnic there was an event called the Iron Belly competition. The Iron Belly involved eating a number of “gross” foods–at least to kids raised on McDonald’s and pizza–that were otherwise edible and even desired in other cultures. The students would attempt to eat every item on their plate as quickly as possible–Anchovy paste, tamarind, unsweetened chocolate, burnt hot dogs, etc–and hold it all down for a long count of ten to be declared the winner. The one food that tripped everyone up, every time, was the Limburger cheese.

Wikipedia, along with several other online sources, cites Monroe, Wisconsin as the only place in the US where Limburger is still made. However, the Limburger I picked up last month on a day trip to Wisconsin, that I’ve had resting in my fridge ever since in anticipation of this post, belies that assertion. (Though perhaps this is the Monroe cheese being “sold wholesale under other labels.”)

In addition to the Limburger, I had about everything I thought I’d need to tackle the fearsome Limburger sandwich at home. I had

It’s not hard to understand why Limburger is less popular these days than it once was. We all bathe daily to avoid smelling like our feet and armpits would smell without regular washing. We’re conditioned to not enjoy that type of smell. I eat plenty of stinky cheeses though. Gruyere is a favorite of mine, and it can get pungent. I love Raclette, and it’s ripened with the same bacteria as Limburger. The onions and mustard will be equally strong partners in this sandwich, and the bread is hearty enough to hold its own. If the sandwich needs more, I can always add the Braunschweiger, and I’ll have an Altoid afterward in the hope that one day my wife will kiss me again.

This ought to be a cake walk.

Sandwich #1: Not a cake walk

I assume, since Limburger is essentially a German cheese (German/Belgian actually but truly embraced by the Germans), that the bread should be buttered. I started with some dark rye bread from Trader Joe’s, basically an American-style Pumpernickel. I went simple, adding a good swipe of German middle-sharp mustard on one slice of bread, a nice but not too thick slice of onion, and some 1/4 inch thick slices of Limburger. The Limburger was getting soft, but it was just shy of spreadable.

The dark rye, the mustard, and the onion all do their parts to offset the cheese, but as strong as it is, I just don’t care for it as the centerpiece of a sandwich.

This particular hunk of Limburger is approaching but not at its peak, not as smelly as it would have gotten in another month or two, even refrigerated, and I had rinsed the rind with plenty of fresh water to tone down the smell. It was still there, though, and while the flavor was palatable and the texture was creamy and smooth, the whole didn’t gel here. I decided to tinker with the formula a bit.

Sandwich #2: Even worse

Since I didn’t feel like the Limburger was enough to carry the sandwich on its own, I decided to make another and add some Braunschweiger. And since the German mustard I had was not quite pungent enough, I decided to add some horseradish as well. Also, I hadn’t tried the Polish rye yet, so I threw that into the mix.

This sandwich was a train wreck. My eldest son, who had at least politely accepted a bite of the first sandwich (when nobody else did), refused to touch it. Without the strong flavors of the dark rye to offset the limburger, it ran away with this sandwich. The Braunschweiger, far from adding any texture, just supplemented the softness of the cheese, accenting its flavor.

Strangely, the neighbor kid who hangs out with my 10 year old loved it. He’d never had a “stinky cheese sandwich” before and considered it a great novelty. He ate half of it. The other half was tossed in the trash with two bites out of it.

Sandwich #3: Let the pros handle it

So Limburger isn’t exactly an approachable cheese, nor is it highly in demand these days. Still, somebody somewhere must make these sandwiches, or else it wouldn’t be on the List, right? Funny thing, if you google limburger sandwiches, the most popular destination for them as far as I can tell is a tavern right there in Monroe, Wisconsin where the cheese is made, called Baumgartner’s.

I guess it’s time for another Sandwich Tribunal road trip!

Monroe is a beautiful little town with a classic Midwestern town square complete with town hall, pretty little shops (including a pharmacy styled like a fairy-tale castle), several taverns (including Baumgartner’s), a couple of ice cream shops, and even an inconspicuous door to a Masonic Temple.

We took a table just inside the tavern and examined the menu (which didn’t take long).

I spent longer agonizing over what beer to order than I did over the food. I had to try the 2nd best chili (“Mom’s will always be the best, but ours is pretty good too.”)

The chili was a standard Midwestern beans-and-ground-beef type, and quite satisfying. My wife and I had a bowl each before our sandwiches. She was the lucky one, and ordered an Italian Beef sandwich with melted brick cheese, which wasn’t quite the same as what we’re used to in Chicago but wasn’t bad either. I of course ordered the Limburger sandwich, which was served on a sheet of paper (maybe the smell doesn’t wash out of the dishes easily?) with an Andes mint on top.

Guys, I gotta say, I just don’t like it. This is basically the same as the first sandwich I made but with spicier mustard. I’m not saying it’s not good, I’m just saying it’s not for me. The bread is hearty, the mustard is spicy, and the onions are sharp, and that’s all fine. The texture of the cheese is creamy, sure, but it’s hard while you’re eating it not to think that toe jam would probably be pretty creamy too.

shudders

That’s as much as I plan to think about Limburger sandwiches this month, or any other probably.Monroe is a beautiful town, and Baumgartner’s was a terrific little tavern, and I’m glad to have had an excuse to visit. There are people in that town who’ve spent years acquiring their taste for Limburger sandwiches, and they can have the things. There are many sandwiches in this world and I don’t have to like every one of them.