colonel mustard
For those of you (like my friend GiGi – did you get any feeling back in your tongue yet, dear?) who are not familiar with the sinus-blasting power of Colman’s Original English Mustard, a primer. This is industrial grade stuff: it is medal-winning, 195 years old, the essential ingredient of Dickensian cold cures, and the reason why Victorian mustard pots are so damn small. Mix it with water to reconstitute, do NOT inhale carelessly while the tin is open, or rub your eyes until you have put the lid back on and washed your hands. And most importantly, do not assume that just because it looks like standard American deli mustard, you can slather it around with the same abandon. Proceed with caution and measure in microns. Now that the dire warnings are issued, let me say that it is the best imaginable condimentary dab for really good sausage or cold roast beef. It also makes an amazing crust for a roast when mixed with flour, salt and pepper, and a pinch or two in a plain vinaigrette gives a lovely zing and helps emulsify the oil and vinegar. Colman’s was standard issue in our house, as was the gag “screaming snake in a Colman’s jar” that lurked in the pantry and adrenalized the mustard quests of me and my sister for years. Maybe the theory was that making a seven year old jump out of her skin before she sat down to eat her bangers would help her develop the constitutional fortitude needed to eat the stuff (once she stopped hyperventilating and found the real jar) without a fire extinguisher handy.
best stocking stuffer this year: thanks, Santa!
