I Tried 5 Cheeses I Can't Pronounce- Here's What Happened

A First-Timer’s Guide to Funky, Fancy Dairy

Let me start by saying I’m no stranger to cheese. I’ve flirted with gouda, romanced sharp cheddar, and had a long-term situationship with mozzarella. But recently, at my local fancy grocery store—the kind where the cheese counter has more square footage than my kitchen—I felt a magnetic pull toward the mysterious section. You know the one: cheeses wrapped in paper, names full of accents, and price tags that say, “You better like me.”

So I did what any brave dairy adventurer would do: I picked five cheeses I absolutely could not pronounce and took them home like a soft, pungent mystery box. Here’s what happened (spoiler: I survived, but my spellcheck did not).

1. Époisses de Bourgogne

Pronunciation: Uh... ay-pwahs duh bore-goyne?

Flavor Profile: Washed rind, super creamy, smells like a gym sock got tenure at Harvard.

This cheese comes with its own wooden box. That should’ve been my first warning. It’s legally banned from public transportation in France due to its scent—an honor, frankly. But once I got past the odor (read: opened every window in my apartment), the inside was velvety, buttery, and outrageously rich. Like brie’s rebellious older cousin who went to art school and now lives in a yurt.

First Impression: Offended my nose. Seduced my tongue.

2. Tête de Moine

Pronunciation: Tet duh mwan (I think?)

Flavor Profile: Semi-hard, nutty, almost floral.

This Swiss cheese is traditionally scraped into delicate rosettes using a contraption called a girolle, which I do not own, so I attacked it with a vegetable peeler like a savage. It was worth it. The flavor was subtle and nutty, like a shy genius who only speaks when they have something meaningful to say. Would definitely pair well with wine, or someone who knows what wine to pair with cheese.

(Spoiler: I wrote about that too, and yes, it involves cheap wine.)

Pairing cheap gas station wine with fancy cheese—because life is about balance.

First Impression: Tastes like a picnic in a Swiss meadow. If I ever get married, I want this cheese at the reception.

3. Casu Marzu

Pronunciation: Kah-soo mar-zoo

Flavor Profile: Aged sheep’s milk… with live maggots. (Nope, not a typo.)

This Sardinian “delicacy” is illegal in the U.S. and, for legal reasons, let’s just say I didn’t technically try it. But in the spirit of full cheese immersion, I had to mention it. It’s a cheese that’s intentionally infested with larvae to break down the fat. People say it’s a “textural experience.” I say therapy is cheaper.

First Impression: Hard pass. But also, mad respect to anyone who eats this on purpose.

4. Brillat-Savarin

Pronunciation: Bree-yah sah-vah-ran

Flavor Profile: Triple crème = maximum indulgence.

I could write love poems about this cheese. It’s creamy. It’s decadent. It’s what would happen if butter and whipped cream had a cheese baby. I ate it with strawberries, and for a full 15 minutes, forgot about my email inbox, rent, and existential dread.

First Impression: If self-care were a cheese, this would be it.

5. Taleggio

Pronunciation: Tah-lej-ee-oh

Flavor Profile: Funky smell, mild flavor, creamy AF.

Looks like it’s been through something emotionally traumatic, but it tastes like melted dreams. It’s the kind of cheese that sneaks up on you: you expect sharp and aggressive, but it’s soft, buttery, and surprisingly mild. Spread it on warm bread and you’re basically in Italy.

First Impression: The rom-com cheese. Weird first act, lovable by the end.

Final Thoughts:

Trying cheeses you can’t pronounce is like going on blind dates with dairy. Sometimes it’s awkward, occasionally alarming, but often unexpectedly delightful. And hey—mispronouncing Époisses doesn’t make you less of a cheese lover. It makes you human.

Pro tip: Don’t let fancy names scare you off. Grab that mystery wedge. Say the name with confidence (even if you’re 100% wrong). Take a bite. Take a selfie. Then Google how to say it later.

Because in the end, the best cheese is the one that makes you curious enough to try it—even if it smells like feet and costs more than your Friday night pizza.