Liedercrantz: who cut the cheese
Yesterday I took a culinary step back in time, revisiting a creation that was considered a delicacy in the early 1900s.
First, a bit of background: A few weeks ago this column observed the 60th anniversary of the death of Emil Frey, a cheese maker credited with two major achievements. In 1891 he produced his first batch of Liederkranz, a cultured cheese so popular with German immigrants it was soon selling a ton a day.
Frey kept experimenting and, in 1917, stumbled onto an exciting something he called Velveeta.
While picky bureaucrats at the FDA say his second concoction is not actually cheese, sales worldwide are in the hundreds of thousands of pounds. I reported that Liederkranz, according to biographical material on Frey, was made only by him.
After his retirement more than half a century ago it ceased to be.
All this prompted Einer Almgood, column in one hand, paper sack in the other, to make a visit. His purpose was to tell me I was wrong. Liederkranz lives, he proclaimed. It has been resurrected.
With that he opened his paper bag and extracted a foil-wrapped, six-ounce package. It seems a Wisconsin firm called the DCI Cheese Company secured Frey’s recipe and method and, a few months ago, began marketing Liederkranz.
Einer tore open a corner of the package. Almost immediately I was reminded of a moment forever frozen in history—the evening in 1126 A.D. when a Viking named Axel Bjornsson glared across the campfire, then became the first person to pose that timeless question: “Ufta! Who cut the cheese?”
I did not, until Einer ripped the foil, know that Liederkranz is a variation of Limburger. The odor filled the kitchen. My wife, who was reading in the living room, set aside her book to take out the garbage.
When that didn’t help she poured bleach down our sink drains. Einer slipped the Liderkranz back into the paper bag and we went outside.
The cheese has a straw-colored, edible rind and a pale, semi-soft interior. Einer had a box of rye crackers and we spread away.
Understand that Einer Almgood is fond of lutefisk. He loves ostkaka (regardless of how it’s spelled). He tells me his favorite breakfast is a can of King Oscar sardines.
His dining habits seem, to most of us, peculiar. He had previously eaten Liederkranz, found it much to his liking. I was cautious.
The smell, while not entirely repulsive, did not remind me of something I wanted to ingest.
The taste, however, was interesting; most unusual, and initially a bit overwhelming. The second sample was considerably more agreeable.
My great-grandfather on mother’s side came here from Germany in 1880-something. He was said to be partial to a smelly sort of cheese, which he consumed with dark beer.
The combination caused him to weep, to reminisce about the old country until grandma ushered him off to bed and fed any remaining cheese to her cat.
By the third cracker the smell was less noticeable, the taste exquisite. I understood why grandpa liked the stuff.
Even so, I probably will not become a Liederkranz regular. Einer spent $9.99 for six ounces, plus $10 shipping.
That’s a little steep. I’m going to mail a copy of this column to DCI Cheese Company on the chance they’ll send a few freebies.
If they do you’re welcome to stop by for a sample—which my wife will insist we do outside. If they don’t, and this is more likely, I’ll stick with Velveeta.
Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com