So I was recently reading an online news story about how a classic condiment is on the rise.
The article said that mustard is all the rage among many folks in the “foodie” world, and is being embraced in ways that have perhaps never before been considered. As is always the case with this kind of stuff, I was intrigued, but not impressed.
I mean, I’m OK with people eating mustard custard. Heck, for all I care, go ahead and swill down a chocolate-dipped double-scoop mustard ice cream cone and wash it down with a 32-ounce mustard soda. For that matter, feel free to start the morning with a bowl of mustard flakes and a mustard Pop Tart, and wrap the day up with a mustard macaroon and a glass of mustard juice.
But just the same, my mustard will be on an Oscar Meyer bun-length wiener, or maybe a mesquite smoked turkey sandwich.
I’ve been known to step outside the box on occasion, and spread some Dijon on a baloney sandwich, or squirt a little Gulden’s on a slaw dog, but I’m stopping short of going with fruity mustard as a pastry filling. I might even put a drop of that super-hot mustard on a piece of cold pork next time I want to clear my sinuses at a Chinese restaurant, but I’m not likely to take a peanut butter and mustard sandwich with me next time I go fishing at the river.
Apparently, mustard use in the U.S. experienced an 11-percent increase from 2007 to 2012, and nationwide sales totaled $508 million in 2012 (well behind the king of condiments, ketchup, which totaled $743 million).
Nice. Good for the mustard farmers.
According to one New York restaurant owner who has jumped aboard the mustard bandwagon, mustard is “the new butter.”
Hardly. I can’t say I’ll be spreading it on my next stack of pancakes right before I pour on the Log Cabin maple flavored syrup.
Of course, good ol’ mustard comes from the seed of a plant by the same name. Mustard probably first appeared on the human food radar screen in the Roman Empire, and is known to have been experimented with back then as a condiment and drink ingredient, and even showed up in wild boar recipes during the fourth or fifth century. But over the years, it has been primarily an additive to savory selections like burgers, dogs and ham sandwiches.
Maybe that’s why I have a hard time envisioning it as a layer in a parfait or a candy bar. Maybe that’s why I don’t see it (or want it) as the base to a pudding recipe.
These days, almost everything is idolized in some way, so I don’t find it surprising that there’s a National Mustard Museum in Middleton, Wisc., that displays more than 5,500 mustards from all 50 states and more than 70 countries. I guess I’m also not surprised there’s a world mustard competition, which this year attracted more than 300 mustard warriors who battled it out to the yellowish end.
But I do find it a bit unnerving that someone might be out there serving up a mustard turnover, or throwing back a mustard cocktail. Let’s just say that’s not my style.
Oh well. Next thing you know mustard will be the new wonder drug or cosmetic miracle.
And that’s OK. It’ fine if a handful of trendy folks want to put mustard in their coffee or start using it as a new foot callous softener. But I’ll never view it as anything but a basic condiment; to me, mustard should simply play a supporting role in a bun or bread-mounted package, or maybe be drizzled on a giant soft pretzel.
Don’t get me wrong – when mustard is in what I believe is its rightful place, I’m a big fan. In fact, when National Mustard Day rolls around again on Aug. 3, I might celebrate by hoisting a Ball Park Frank topped with plenty of the yellow stuff. But I doubt I’ll have a slice of mustard cake topped with mustard frosting and sprinkled with mustard chips.
Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I don’t think a lot of these new ideas cut the mustard.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.