- “The Minger”: Intensely aromatic cheese
- Scottish creation challenges expectations
- Despite its reputation, surprisingly delicious
It has been dubbed the “ickiest cheese in the world” due to the formidable pong it generates, which “dominates the room.”
“The Minger,” a new Scottish product that not even cheesemakers dare to test.
The Minger, a British soft cheese with an oozy interior resembling Camembert, is, according to its creators, “pure pleasure on the palate.”
It is a washed-rind cheese, routinely moistened for two months in a saline solution during maturation.
This procedure promotes the proliferation of Brevibacterium linens, the microorganism accountable for foul-smelling feet, emitting an aroma known for its ability to entice insects.
Highland Fine Cheeses, situated at Blarliath Farm in the Highlands of Scotland, produces The Minger.
Myconeos, a spin-off of the University of Nottingham, collaborates with the business to develop novel strains of moulds for its products.
Highland Fine Cheeses’ chief cheesemaker, Rory Stone, remarked that The Minger has a notably “hellish on the nose” quality, though he acknowledged he does not know precisely why.
This washed-rind cheese is not the first to harbour the harmful Brevibacterium linens microbe.
“It appears that we have a knack for causing things to rot,” Mr Stone said.
Unveiling The Minger’s Surprises
“The moist environment—and Scotland is experiencing extreme moisture—helps promote the yeasts and penicilliums we employ.”
Before sampling, I asked about the recommended storage time for The Minger outside the refrigerator before consumption. Mr. Stone responded, “Your shout, I never eat it.”
This made me feel mildly uneasy; how potent must a cheese be if not even its progenitor will handle it?
Upon arrival, sturdy silver packaging encased it. It evoked thoughts of the reflective material used by NASA to insulate its space observatories.
Distributors exercise caution in delivering The Minger, progressively referred to on social media as “the stinkiest cheese in the world.”
Upon unwrapping the wax paper, I immediately notice the rind, a vibrant orange hue with gnarled ridges. Its appearance is breathtaking.
Per Mr. Stone’s assertion, this is the result of incorporating annatto, an organic orange pigment obtained from the kernels of the achiote tree, into the brine solution.
An initial whiff reveals faint aromas of saline air and a farmyard; however, the overall intensity falls far short of my initial expectations.
The vibrant rind of The Minger effortlessly allows my knife to pass through it, and the exquisitely creamy interior spreads well on a cracker.
Anticipating the worst, I devour the entire thing in a single mouthful, but it is utterly delectable—salty, milky, and tangy with umami.
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Based on what I’ve heard about The Minger, I was truly taken aback; I was prepared to vomit it back out of fear or flee in horror.
This is not comparable to the foul-smelling British cheeses that my father gave me as a Christmas present each year, such as Tunworth from Hampshire, which is said to be “English Camembert good enough to make a Frenchman weep.”
However, nothing can unseat the renowned Stinking Bishop of Gloucestershire, whose words evoke thoughts of strawberries and cream.
Stinking Bishop was in high demand almost two decades ago when Gromit utilized it to save Wallace from certain death in their film “The Curse of the Were-Rabbit.”
Although I doubt it would have the same impact in a fictional universe, the pair of cheese-obsessed individuals would certainly devour The Minger with crackers.
It certainly is tasty, but it is not the stinkiest cheese in the universe.
