I bought this cheese and last week’s Borgonzola at the same time — partially because I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a Gorgonzola, and partially because I laughed at names that sounded like Engrish rip-offs of Gorgonzola, and partially because Gorgonzola and Borgonzola and Cambozola are damn fun to say!
So this week, I kind of felt like I knew what I might be in for. Although Gorgonzola and Gorgonzola-style cheeses do have some variety (they can be creamy or crumbly, for instance) this week’s Cambozola looked and felt a lot like the Borgonzola.
Then we unwrapped it.
If last week’s cheese smelled “like mouldy basement” then this Cambozola smells like that same basement, a (moist) month later. And with your nose rubbed in it.
Within instants of having de-Saran-Wrapped it, a near-rotten smell was wafting through all the main-floor rooms of the house like a punch, wandering to hit you in the nose.
It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t awful — it wasn’t like a going-to-the-dump reek, or a taking-a-dump stench — but it was pretty bad. Luckily, you got used to it pretty quickly, but every now and then you’d get taken by surprise and it’d be “whoo! that is one stanky cheese!”
Cutting into it (I don’t really recommend getting this close, that’s what telephoto is for), you can see that this Cambozola has a creamier, yellower texture and colour than the Borgonzola of last week. The mould is also much greener.
It seemed to cut like there was more of a crust on the outside, too. If the Borgonzola was akin to a Brie, this one had a rind on it that was more like a Gouda. There was no wax of course, just that it was much tougher on the outside. I wonder if it was aged longer?
On a cracker, this cheese looks so unassuming, but remember, it’s got a potent smell. It’s not the worst cheese I’ve ever smelled — not by a long shot — but this was one to remember. Or to forget. And eating it meant that you had to bring it up to your mouth, right up under your nose. This was like an extreme sport — conquer your fear!
Was it worth it?
Oh my, yes!
Creamily, the cheese would sit perched on your tongue. It didn’t dissolve, or melt exactly, but it had a way of sliding down your throat that was actually kind of decadent. And the flavour was astonishingly mild for such a ripe-smelling cheese.
It wasn’t for everyone — if you can’t get past the smell, then it’s worthless to taste it — but in terms of just the flavour, it was a very nice and agreeable snack.
Like a blue cheese, the mould imparts a sour taste to the cheese, but it’s not nearly as sharp as most blue cheeses that I’ve tasted. It’s smooth and mild, almost buttery. I would say that it tastes a little like buttermilk, but it’s been so long since I’ve tasted buttermilk that I’m not convinced that I’m making the right comparison.
Of the two ‘zolas, I definitely preferred this one.
Would I buy it again? Well, that’s a complicated question. I certainly liked it, but you can lose friends with the smell.
Grant Hamilton
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