A hog roasted on a spit. The sweet scent of crackling pork wafted over, grabbed me firmly by the shoulders, and pulled me closer, all the while distracting me with its sexy, piggy dance.
This is a common sight at music festivals across Ireland. Pig on a spit, jammed between fresh bread, and slathered with apple sauce and mustard? What’s not to like?
Well, actually, the mustard. Here’s a top food bugbear: the existence of so-called “yellow mustard”, or American mustard. The very words are like a slap in the face to one of the greatest foods ever discovered. Tasting entirely of artificial, yellow sugar, mixed with cheap vinegar, American mustard comes without a hint of the sharp, deeply enjoyable sting to the palate of English, dijon, or even wholegrain.
That’s why I asked – repeatedly – whether the mustard was yellow American mustard or English mustard. I should have ignored the stall owner’s blank reply, because I had to throw the roll out (yes, this is a white whine). American mustard sets me off on a rant, and causes all my friends to disappear. Just as well I have CheapEats, so I can write a strongly worded blog post.
Anyway, if your palate is so inclined, a good, strong mustard is every bit as alluring as a fiery chilli. I’ve moved beyond the Coleman’s that lines supermarket shelves – too weak – and am looking to build up a collection of the world’s spiciest mustards. So far, I’m loving Lakeshore’s Extra Hot Irish Mustard, which I picked up in SuperValu: it really punches you in the face.
I’m looking to extend this collection a little further. Readers, any recommendations? What cuts the mustard for you? (Stop groaning, I can hear you)