Limburger? Seriously? That cheese of cartoon lore that is always depicted with wavy wafts of stinkiness emanating from it? After attending the inaugural “Lady Gouda” wine and cheese event at the Ortman Family Vineyards' tasting room last month, I can only answer a resounding, “Yes!”

The title of the evening was “Pairing Blissfully Stinky, Runny and Slimy Cheeses of Europe & Ortman Family Wines.” Hey, they had me at cheese, but I’m also a huge fan of the “stinky,” those much maligned cheeses that most people run away from holding their noses. That’s a behavior I heartily approve of, by the way, because it means more yummy goodness for me.

The four cow’s milk cheeses that Lady Gouda (aka Jean Higgins of Di Raimondo’s Italian Market and Cheese Shop in Paso Robles) put before us were pitch-perfect benchmarks of their varieties: Epoisses, aged Provolone, Raclette, and Limburger. Yes, all were stinky, but all were stunning, AND … it’s certainly worth noting that sniffed side-by-side, the Limburger was really not much stinkier than the other three.

Given Limburger’s current status, it’s hard to believe it was once the best selling cheese in the United States, especially in the Northeast and Midwest thanks to the flood of European immigrants in the late 20th century. The cheese itself was developed in the 19th century in an area then known as the Duchy of Limburg. That region is now divvied up among the Netherlands, Belgium and Germany, and today Limburg is typically described as being originally from Belgium, but now produced in Germany.

However, it seems it was Swiss immigrants that originally began making Limburger in the United States in the 1840s. Specifically, they settled in Wisconsin, south of Madison, near the Illinois border, in Green County, in a town called Monroe.

Like many such regions across the country in the mid to late 19th century, Monroe became home to a bustling dairy industry with scads of small, artisanal cheese plants. (Of course, back then, it wasn’t “artisanal,” it was just the way things were done.) Obviously, most of the cheeses made were those that the newly minted American residents remembered from their mother countries, Limburger being one of them.

According to the What’s Cooking America website, “By 1880, Limburger was being made (in) twenty-five cheese factories in Green County, and by 1930, there were more than a hundred companies producing it. Today, only one company in the United States still make(s) it, the Chalet Cheese Cooperative of Monroe, Wisconsin.”

It’s hard to pinpoint the reasons for Limburger’s fall from grace – maybe the assimilation of immigrant culture into American culture, maybe the increasing inconvenience of finding a small production cheese plant, maybe … okay, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. Maybe it was the smell. After all, as it ages to about three months, the cheese produces its stink because the bacterium used to ferment Limburger cheese and other rind-washed cheeses is Brevibacterium linens, the same one found on human skin that is partially responsible for body odor.”

Ahem.

Well, perhaps this isn’t a good time to segue to wine pairing, but if you’ve stuck with me this far, I feel we can take things to the next level in our relationship. Among the hallmarks of a classic Syrah are smoky and meaty tastes, and sometimes even a faint underlying funkiness. Those flavor profiles make it a near perfect match for Limburger, which certainly wouldn’t go with brighter red wines like a delicate Pinot and certainly not most wines.

Indeed, as Teresa Burke, Hospitality Manager and “Chief of Conviviality” for Ortman Family Wines pointed out, “A wine and cheese pairing that surprises many is a classic warm climate Syrah with Limburger. As Limburger ages it becomes rich and creamy on the inside and the stinky rind becomes, well, stinkier due to the proliferation of bacteria. Pairing a medium- to full-bodied Syrah (such as Ortman Family Wines 2006 Syrah from Paso Robles) marries boysenberry, toasty oak aromas and flavors of plum, blackberry, cherry and a hint of smoked bacon with this aromatic creamy cheese and mellows the stinkiness of the cheese.”

As I can attest from the vigorous “research” we conducted at the Lady Gouda event, this is indeed true!

One thing I also learned at the event is that Syrah has become a near impossible sell for restaurant wine lists. Though Grenache/Mourvèdre/Syrah blends (aka “GSM”s) are very popular, the single varietal isn’t. This just strikes me as just plain lack of effort or lack of knowledge on the part of the restaurants.

Because of its combination of both fruit and slightly savory profiles, Syrah is a stellar “food wine,” one of those wines that should be the go-to for anyone – be they the diner or the sommelier trying to order a red wine to go with all the various dishes at the table. After all, no other red wine is going to pair nicely with steak and grilled salmon and spicy Pasta Arribaita and roast turkey and salumi and mushroom crostini and paté and lentil stew and duck with cherry sauce and chipotle chicken and … yes, even Limburger!

(The next Lady Gouda event on November 18 will feature goat cheeses. $10pp, rsvp required via Facebook or calling 238-9009)

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Other fun Limburger lore …

Thanks also to the Uncle Stinky blog for pointing out that The 1979 song, "Dance This Mess Around," by The B-52's features the repeatedly shouted line, "Why don't you dance with me?! I'm not no limburger!"

One of the classic ways to enjoy Limburger is as a hearty sandwich on whole grain bread and plenty of other bold flavors such as onion, mustard and even sardines.

And, just in case you were losing sleep at night wondering about the Great Limburger Cheese War of 1935 …