Dijon mustard. I love it. It goes into my vinaigrette, and my mayonnaise, and on my cheeseburgers. I wooed my wife with Dijon mustard spread on Triscuits and topped with a slice of Cracker Barrel extra sharp white cheddar cheese toasted in my dorm room. At home now I’ve found that my love of Dijon mustard gets in the way of my love of wine. Oftentimes the mustard will react awkwardly with certain wines: red Bordeaux or Chianti with my grilled steaks, Vouvray with veal cutlets, Barbera with braised pork ribs. I get a sour and metallic aftertaste with some combinations.
Well, I think I’ve figured out why. The process of making mustard is different region by region. In Burgundy (Dijon’s recipe was fixed in the 1700s) brown and black mustard seeds are mixed with verjuice and white wine. In Orléans, white vinegar is used, and in Bordeaux, grape must creates milder and darker mustard. The mustard of Meaux is made with black, brown, and white seeds that are coarsely crushed and prepared with vinegar, so there is a grainier texture to the condiment. English mustard is altogether different, and in Italy, mustards usually resemble chutney, as we know it.
When I sat down to eat Sunday night I experienced one of those eureka moments. Dinner was braised smoked pork shoulder with egg noodles mixed with brown butter. There was sweet corn and the last radishes from the garden. The wine I chose, Jean-Pierre Diconne’s Bourgogne Aligoté, arrived two weeks ago in the shop.
The blue-collar meal with the blue-collar wine was fabulous. The wine, though, made the perfect foil for the Dijon mustard. Here was an everyday white burgundy wine served with a centuries old burgundian condiment, and the combination left the savory flavors of smoked meat, mustard, and wine intact on my palate. There truly is something to this notion of place with food and wine. As Frank would say, “how ’bout that!”