“Better you than me,” I replied, with feeling. While I always look forward to the spicy mustard-flavored dishes that show up in Division Two, I do not have Ruby’s taste for great bowls of fire—or rather, hot pots of fire, since we’re talking mustard here.
“I’ve always been curious about Homer and Pete,” Ruby mused. “Are they really as good as everybody says they are?”
The Strange Case of the Mistress of Mystery and the Mustard Club
Mystery fans are sure to recognize the name of Dorothy Sayers, the much-acclaimed author of the Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane mysteries. In 1922, as a young advertising copy-writer, Sayers helped to create the Mustard Club, an advertising campaign for Colman’s Mustard. Members of the fictional Mustard Club included its president, Baron de Beef; Master Mustard, Lord Bacon of Cookham; and the club’s secretary, Miss Di Gester. Among the elements of the campaign: a filmed spoof in which a man is tried for allegedly attempting to eat a ham sandwich without mustard (he is found guilty and sentenced to be dunked in a mustard bath); and the “Recipe Book of the Mustard Club,” also written by Sayers, an excellent cook.
“Well, I guess you’ll get the inside story,” I replied. “I hope you’re ready, Ruby. Last year, I saw smoke curling out of the judges’ ears. You’ll need an asbestos tongue.”
In answer, Ruby only gave me an anticipatory grin and rubbed her hands together. I sighed. Anybody who can come up with a recipe called Hot Lips Cookie Crisps, made with habanero chiles, deserves anything she gets.
The next day, I ran into Homer Mayo in the checkout lane at Cavette’s Grocery. He was buying honey, several different kinds of vinegar, garlic, cloves, and allspice, and chile peppers.
“I see you’re getting ready for the mustard contest,” I remarked in a neighborly way.
Homer is a lean, leathery old man with a mane of white hair and very blue eyes—a blue which was intensified by the blue jumpsuit he was wearing, the zipper unzipped to show curling white hairs on his chest. He gave me a pitying look. “This ain’t fer the contest,” he said. “I cooked up my contest mustards a couple months ago. They gotta age, doncha know? You like yer mustard medium nippy, let it sit fer six weeks ’fore you put it in the fridge. You like it hot, give it four weeks, and double that for a good mild herb mustard.” He frowned. “You oughtta know that, China. It’s the secret to good mustard.”
Mustard by Any Other Name . . .
Mustard is also known as rai in India, chiehi in some areas of China, biji sawi in Malaysia, sanape in Italy, Senf in Germany, moutarde in France, and mosterd in Holland.
“Oh, I do,” I said hastily. “Absolutely.”
He waved an arm, waxing eloquent. “Mustard needs to settle down, hang out fer a while, get mellow. Folks don’t think about that. They think, you cook up a batch o’ mustard, it’s hot to trot right that minute.” He leaned closer and grinned flirtatiously, showing a gold tooth. “Mustard’s like us old coots. Better when it’s been around.”
I grinned back, liking the sparkle in his eye. “There’s something to that,” I agreed.
“Want some o’ my mustard?” he asked. “I give a lot away, y’know. Fam’ly, friends, anybody that asks.” He put his hand on my arm, leaned closer, and whispered, “I spesh’ly like to give it away to pretty girls.”
“I’m flattered,” I said.
Mustard for Health
Like many other spicy herbs, mustard stimulates appetite and digestion. It also stimulates blood circulation and has for centuries been used in chest poultices to ease lung congestion and as a rub to warm chilly hands and feet. Some people still shake mustard powder into their socks in cold weather, and it is sometimes recommended as a warming foot bath. Native Americans found the herb useful for headaches and colds (they sniffed the powdered seeds as an inhalant); as a poultice to ease back pain; and to bring on menstruation. Because mustard’s volatile oils are potent, herbalists caution against its indiscriminate use.
My encounter with Pete Hitchens wasn’t quite as pleasant. He came tearing into Thyme and Seasons the next afternoon. “Mustard seeds,” he puffed, heading for the shelf of bulk herbs. “Gotta have more mustard seeds.” Unlike Homer, Pete is plump, red-faced, and mostly bald, with a fringe of gingery hair around his ears and a gingery mustache across his upper lip. He seems to be out of breath most of the time.
“I’ve got plenty of yellow seeds, and mustard powder,” I said, “but I’m all out of brown seeds. I expect them in sometime next week.”
“Next week!” he wheezed apoplectically. “I need them brown seeds now! I been studyin’ on Homer’s beer mustard, and I figgered out why it always wins. I aim to make me some jes’ like it, only better. This year, I’m gonna get me a whole bunch of blue ribbons.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said. I wanted to ask why he hadn’t made his mustard in time to age it, but thought it might inflame him further. “Whole Foods in Austin always carries mustard seeds. It won’t take you more than an hour to drive up there and—”
Pete glared at me, his red face getting even redder. “I don’t relish drivin’ all day jes’ fer a few seeds. That’s what I get fer dependin’ on small-time bidness folks. Shoulda known you’d let me down in my hour of need.”
I rose to defend myself. “Around contest time, lots of people buy mustard to cook with. I had plenty yesterday, but—”
“You ain’t got none now,” he growled, “and that’s what counts.” Muttering under his breath, he paid for several ounces of yellow seeds and mustard powder and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
“Are you all right?” Ruby wanted to know, sticking her head through the door. “What was all that ruckus?”
“That was one of your contestants,” I said. “The hot-tempered one. Seems he’s trying to copy his competitor’s beer mustard and ran out of seeds.”
“This is getting more interesting by the minute,” Ruby said. “I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”
“Better wear your bulletproof vest,” I advised. “If this guy gets as upset over losing as he does when he can’t get what he wants, you might need it.”
The day of the contest dawned sunny and hot, and the TV weatherwoman was predicting that the mercury would hit a hundred before the sun went down. But long before that, we’d know for certain who’d won the Mad for Mustard competition. Would Homer make a clean sweep of the field, or would Pete make a comeback?
The contest entries close at ten A.M., and the judging takes place between ten-thirty and noon. When I got there at nine, the tables for all the entries were lined up in a double row down the middle of the judging tent, with the Division Two dishes arranged on one side, and the Division One mustards on the other. With my Enterprise press badge pinned to my T-shirt (which was already pasted to my back with sweat) and my reporter’s notebook in my hand, I strolled along, taking note of the variety of mouthwatering dishes.
It looked like this year’s Division Two competition was going to be outstanding. Maylene Grudge had entered a salad made with oranges, red onions, avocado, and yellow peppers, with an orange-honey mustard dressing. Genevieve Schultz had entered her famous Grilled Chicken with Rosemary-Mustard Marinade, and Prissy Taggert had cooked up a dish of Spicy Sautéed Veggies that she’d learned to make when her husband, Alva, got sent to Bangkok for a year. Percy Grimes had entered—again—his family’s old-fashioned gingerbread. Sniffing appreciatively, I made a note to get the recipes for some of these dishes. The judges were going to have a very difficult time selecting winners.
But on the other side of the table, it appeared that Ruby and the two other Division One judges might have things easy, after all. Pete had already brought his mustards and the contest monitor had set them out, one or two entries in every category, along with plastic cups filled with mustard, plastic spoons for the judges, and several bottles of water—also for the judges, who would certainly need them. But Homer’s entries hadn’t arrived yet. It was certainly odd for him to be late, especially sinc
e he’d filled out all the paperwork the night before. By nine-fifteen, everybody was beginning to frown at their watches and ask, “Where’s Homer? How come he ain’t here?”
A few minutes later, we found out why. Ollie Benbow dashed into the tent, waving his arms. “Homer’s been in a wreck,” he cried. “His pickup was run down by a garbage truck. It was totaled.”
A dismayed chorus of oh-nos filled the tent.
“But Homer’s gonna be okay,” Ollie assured us. “Just a few broke bones is all, and some cuts caused by flyin’ glass. The doc says he’ll be outta the hospital tomorrow.”
A sigh of relief swept the crowd. “Attaboy, Homer!” somebody shouted. “Way to go, you old sonuvagun,” somebody else yelled. “Let’s hear it fer Homer!” And all of Homer’s Mustard Mavericks began to cheer.
Ollie stood there, waiting for quiet to settle again. “That’s the good news,” he said at last, his face gloomy. “The bad news is that Homer’s contest mustards was riding in a box on the front seat. They’re all smashed to hell and gone—nothing left of ’em but a puddle o’ yella mustard and broke glass all over the pavement.”
People stared at each other in stunned silence. “No mustard!” Ralph Rattle lamented. “Well, hell, we might jes’ as well go on home. There ain’t gonna be no competition this year.”
And all of Homer’s backers began to mumble and mutter and discuss things grimly among themselves. I couldn’t blame them. They were no doubt vastly relieved that their friend was okay, but they had to be grieving the loss of all those wonderful, one-of-a-kind gourmet mustards, the fruit of Homer’s hard work and creativity. And it certainly looked as if Ralph was right, and this year’s competition was going down the drain. In the unforeseen absence of Homer Mayo and his mustards, Pete Hitchens would have his once-in-a-lifetime chance to grab a fistful of blue ribbons.
But that isn’t how it turned out. Two minutes before the deadline, Pete hurried into the tent carrying a cardboard box filled with a half dozen or more pots of mustard. As everybody watched, speculating about what was going on, he handed the box over to the contest monitor. A few minutes later, the new entries—Homer’s entries!—were arranged on the table, and Ruby and her three fellow judges were ushered in. And within the hour, to the delight of the Mustard Mavericks, Homer Mayo’s mustards had taken all five blue ribbons.
Mustard Contest Recipes, Division Two
MAYLENE GRUDGE’S MUSTARD GREEN, RED, AND ORANGE SALAD WITH ORANGE-HONEY MUSTARD VINAIGRETTE
3 slices bacon
1 red onion, sliced in rings
1 red bell pepper, seeded and sliced lengthwise
1 avocado, peeled and sliced lengthwise
3 small oranges or tangerines, peeled, sectioned, pith
removed
3 to 4 cups young mustard greens, washed
3 ounces feta cheese
To make the vinaigrette, whisk together in a small bowl:
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
½ teaspoon orange rind, finely grated
1 tablespoon orange juice
½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon honey mustard
¼ cup finely chopped toasted almonds (optional)
Fry the bacon until crisp and drain on paper toweling. Gently toss together the sliced onion, bell pepper, avocado slices, and 3 tablespoons of vinaigrette. Set aside to marinate for a few moments. Arrange the mustard greens on four to six small serving plates. Place the orange sections on the greens, and add the marinated mixture. Drizzle with the remaining vinaigrette and crumble the feta cheese and bacon on top. Serve immediately.
I turned around, expecting to see Pete throw a temper tantrum, the way he’d done the year before, only more so. But as the prizes were announced, he just stood there with a big goofy grin pasted on his red face. And when the judges had given Pete his five red ribbons, all the old guys in the bleachers stormed the floor, hoisted him onto their shoulders, and marched around the tables, shouting and singing, “He ain’t too old to cut the mustard anymore.” And then this band of grumpy old geezers, with Pete still riding on their shoulders, disappeared in the direction of the hospital, to take the champion his well-earned blue ribbons. And no doubt they’d manage to smuggle several six-packs of beer, a big bag of pretzels, and—of course—mustard into Homer’s hospital room, as well.
GENEVIEVE SCHULTZ’S GRILLED CHICKEN WITH ROSEMARY-MUSTARD MARINADE
To make Rosemary-Mustard Marinade, combine in a bowl:
1 cup vinegar
cup olive oil
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon yellow or mixed mustard seeds
1 large clove garlic, minced fine
3 to 4 tablespoons fresh rosemary, chopped, or 1 tablespoon
dried
Freshly ground pepper, to taste
Marinate chicken (skinless breasts or other pieces) overnight. Grill, brushing frequently with remaining marinade.
PRISSY TAGGERT’S SPICY SAUTÉED VEGGIES
¼ cup vegetable oil
Black peppercorns (5 for a mild taste, 10 for medium-hot,
20 for oh-boy!)
1 tablespoon white sesame seeds
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
1 teaspoon yellow or brown mustard seeds
3 tablespoons freshly grated ginger
1 red onion, sliced lengthwise
½ teaspoon turmeric
½ teaspoon cayenne (reduce or omit for a milder taste)
½ pound fresh green beans, washed, ends trimmed
1 red bell pepper, seeded, cut into strips
1 yellow bell pepper, seeded, cut into strips
1 cup sliced mushrooms
2 teaspoons lemon juice
Salt to taste
In a wok or large nonstick skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Combine peppercorns, sesame seeds, cumin seeds, and mustard seeds. Add to oil and cover immediately, reducing heat to low. (Seeds will pop.) When seeds have browned (20 seconds or less), add grated ginger and onion. Turn heat to medium-high and sauté until onions are translucent. Add turmeric and cayenne and sauté for 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Add green beans, and sauté until beans are bright green. Continue cooking for 5 minutes, then add bell peppers. Sauté until peppers are slightly browned, then add mushrooms and cook 3 to 4 minutes longer, until vegetables are cooked but still crisp. Add lemon juice and salt to taste. Serves four to six.
THE GRIMES FAMILY’S GINGERBREAD
½ cup unsalted butter, softened
½ cup dark brown sugar, firmly packed
½ cup dark molasses
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons orange zest, finely grated
1 teaspoon orange flavoring
2 teaspoons mustard powder
1½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ cup boiling water
Mix together butter, sugar, molasses, ginger, cinnamon, orange zest, orange flavoring, and mustard. Add flour, one-half cup at a time. Add baking soda to boiling water, then stir into mixture. Turn into a square baking pan, lightly greased, and bake at 325°F for 30 minutes. Cool 10 minutes before removing from pan to a rack.
And how did Pete just happen to have all those pots of Homer’s mustard handy, exactly enough to replace the ones that got smashed in the wreck? Well, it took a bit of superior sleuthing on my part to dig up the details, but eventually I found out that Pete had been collecting Homer’s famous mustards on the sly, from friends, family, wherever he could get his hands on them. He aimed to analyze them and try to figure out why they took so many blue ribbons. In the end, he had several pots of each of Homer’s mustards. He’d boxed them up and brought them along with him to the competition, intending to dispose of them after the prizes were all awarded.
But that was only part of the explanation. So Pete had Homer’s mustards. But he certainly didn’t have to enter them in
the competition, thereby spoiling his own chances of winning. Why did he do it? Some said it was because he didn’t want to disappoint the crowd, which had come to see another no-holds-barred mustard competition. Ruby suggested that he did it out of a burning desire to test his mustards one more time against the best that Homer could offer. “What’s a hot dog without mustard?” she asked rhetorically. “What’s a contest without competition? What good is winning first place if there’s nobody around to take second?”
Two Gourmet Mustards You Can Make
PETE HITCHENS’S BLUE-RIBBON BEER MUSTARD
1 cup dark beer
¼ cup yellow mustard seeds
¼ cup brown mustard seeds
1½ cups apple cider vinegar
1 small onion, chopped
6 cloves garlic, minced
½ cup mustard powder
2 tablespoons icewater
1½ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons sugar
½ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
Pour beer over the mustard seeds and let soak overnight. In a nonreactive pan (glass or stainless), place vinegar, onion, and garlic. Simmer until liquid is reduced by two-thirds. Strain and chill. Mix dry mustard and icewater and let sit for 20 minutes. Stir in cold vinegar, salt, sugar, allspice, cumin, ginger, and soaked mustard seeds. Place in a blender container and blend until mustard seeds are coarsely ground, scraping sides often. Pour into a saucepan and simmer over very low heat 10 to 15 minutes, until it thickens. Cool, place in a glass jar with a tight lid, and let sit in a dark cupboard for 4 to 5 weeks before using. Refrigerate after opening. Makes about 1 pint.
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