When HG was a working journalist headquartered on New York’s East 45th Street, post deadline thirst often directed HG and companions to the nearby Old Seidelberg Bar (alas, long gone) on Third Avenue. Lots of dark oak. Dimly lit, but not gloomy. Very professional bartenders who kept heavy tankards chilled and knew how to tap beer in the right proportion of body and foam.
Ahh, the beer. Many excellent German brews on tap plus the best from New York’s local breweries. Liederkranz cheese, raw onions, pumpernickel bread, pickled pig’s knuckles comprised the hearty accompaniment. The Seidelberg was contemplative bar, HG and his contentious companions learned to moderate their tones. Curiously, it was a favorite watering hole for the great Phil Cavaretta and his Chicago Cubs. The ball players did not encourage conversation, preferring to think about sliders, knuckle balls and breaking curves while gazing into the depths of Old Seidelberg’s tankards.
Liederkranz is HG’s favorite cheese. It is a cousin of German Limburger (but, not as outrageously stinky). Powerful. pungent stuff. Best when the yellow crust turns a bit golden and the ivory interior darkens and gets slightly runny. To be metaphoric: If a ripe Camembert is a clarinet, a ripe Liederkranz is a tuba.
This robust stuff was a staple in cheese sections of New York groceries (and certainly in the midwest). In 1985 it disappeared. No explanation. Just gone.
The good news is that it’s back and you can get it online from DCI Cheese Company, who acquired the original cultures to make this fine cheese. O, happy day!
Some history: Liederkranz was created in the 1860’s by Emile Frey of Monroe, N.Y. New York’s German immigrants loved the cheese, especially the hearty members of the Liederkranz Club, guys who met to sing. Thus, the name.
When late autumn and winter descends, a fire will be crackling in HG’s living room fireplace. Pro football will be on the TV. Liderkranz, raw onions, sour garlic dills, German liver sausage, pumpernickel bread and cold Belgian ale will be in front of HG. Can hardly wait for the weather to change.
When HG was a working journalist headquartered on New York’s East 45th Street, post deadline thirst often directed HG and companions to the nearby Old Seidelberg Bar (alas, long gone) on Third Avenue. Lots of dark oak. Dimly lit, but not gloomy. Very professional bartenders who kept heavy tankards chilled and knew how to tap beer in the right proportion of body and foam. 
