I was graciously invited to ACRE artist residency in Steuben, Wisconsin as a visiting artist this summer. I was asked to run some sort of programming and they offered me use of their amazing kitchen. Having grown up and identifying as a (summertime) Michigan boy, the state of Wisconsin has always held somewhat of an exotic mystique for me. I have found that this wonderful state has a certain established culture that can be found statewide– the Pack; bratwurst; cheese and more cheese; beer; beer served at one of the thousands of small roadside taverns found in even the tiniest of small towns; bars where even in these tiniest of small towns you’re never greeted with a glaring look of “who-the-hell-is-this-tourist”, maybe a good-spirited ribbing about your whiskey preference, but always a smiling greeting and a chat about what you’re doing up ‘dere. Wisconsin is one of the friendliest states I can think of. And where does this convivial, beer swilling, encased sausage scarfing culture originate? From the old country, traditions that have survived generations brought to the fecund lands of the upper midwest by peasant northern Europeans, including one of the larger populations, the Germans (30% of the population by 1900 after three cycles of immigration since the mid-1800s).

My ~somewhat tongue-in-cheek~ project, Eric’s Germany Kitchen explores the unfashionable culture and cuisine of my 68% German heritage. Growing up, I understood limburger cheese as the punchline of schoolyard jokes about foot odor. I never knew anyone that actually ate the stuff nor had ever seen it at any grocery store. A few years ago, we stopped in the kitschy Swiss fairy tale town of Monroe on the ride home from a camping trip. Right in the downtown square, I fell in love with one of my favorite Wisconsin watering holes, Baumgartner’s, which is actually Wisconsin’s oldest cheese store, with the bar and sandwich shop in the back. The limburger lore ran deep at this spot, which I recalled as I was researching German cuisine in southwest Wisconsin for my ACRE project.

It turns out that Monroe is home to the oldest and one of two limburger producers in the country, Chalet cheese, which under their Country Castle label, has been producing the stinky stuff since 1885. A stop in Monroe would begin our foot-odored journey (it turns out that, in fact, limburger’s signature aroma is caused by Brevibacterium linens, which also causes body odors including the ones emanating from our sneakers).

What’s the difference between limburger cheese and my friend Ted?

One is white & stinks, the other is cheese.

Limburger garnished with the Andie’s mint; the other, salami (summer sausage) and (brick) cheese

I ordered a limburger sandwich with onions at Baumgartner’s. The incredibly hospitable barkeep double checked with me to make sure that I knew what I was getting into. I ordered a summer sausage and brick cheese sandwich as a chaser. So how did I do? It was definitely one of the stankiest things I have ever put in my mouth and I have a high tolerance for funky cheeses like morbier. This sandwich contained like half inch thick slabs of the stuff and though I choked the whole thing down, draining a pitcher of Spotted Cow in the process, it was tough for me. The nostril cavity- filling, ammonia-ish pungency kind of obliterates any nuance and in such dense volume on this sandwich, it was just too much. I can see dabbing this on a cracker, maybe with some fruit preserves, but I’ll pass on 4 oz. of the stuff all at once.

For my lunch at ACRE, Caitlin and the crew were kind enough to source both the Chalet product and a German variety, which was surprisingly, much, much easier going. Apparently limburger is sold according to its age and at one month of aging it has a mild, nutty brie- like characteristic, whereas just a month later it takes on its more unwashed temperament. We served open-faced limburger sandwiches alongside another popular Sconnie sandwich filling and less-than-hip offering, braunschweiger, aka liverwurst, which also has a bit of an olfactory reputation.

Rounding things out, I made a couple of other EGK’s mainstay dishes, my Aunt Helen’s favorite lentil soup with frankfurters and a bacon-y German potato salad.

I had an absolute blast working with Brian, Billy, Virginia, and co. Despite a woozy hangover from the dance party the night before, we trooped through a rather odiferous prep session. I know some of the bleary-eyed campers may have had a hard time facing these old timey treats first thing, but no one went hungry. Thanks Acre, let’s do it again sometime!!!