Fallot Dijon Mustard

So… what’s mustard?

The recipe is pretty simple – you can even make it at home. You grind up mustard seeds, traditionally with a mortar and pestle, but you can use a spice grinder. Once the seeds are ground as fine as you want them, you add liquid. Usually that’s water or vinegar, but you could also use ale or fruit juice. Next add other seasonings. Salt is a good place to start, but you can use anything from herbs to honey. Mix it all together and you’ve got mustard.

What makes some mustards hot?

First, there’s a bit of natural chemistry at work. Mustard comes from the brassica family of plants and, as a defense, these plants developed a compound called sinigrin that turns into mustard oil. It’s that oil that feels like a punch in the nose. Mustard seeds come in white, brown, and black and get hotter as they get darker so black mustard seeds have the most sinigrin.

Second, mustard makers amplify the natural chemistry with recipes that kick up its heat. Warming mustard actually lessens the reaction, so the hottest mustards are made with very cold water. Adding vinegar can halt the reaction and maintain heat so a dash of vinegar is always found in the hottest mustards. Mustards mellow over time so the hottest are usually fresher. Mustards will keep pretty much indefinitely even at room temperature, but they’ll retain more of their pungency when refrigerated.

What’s the deal with Dijon?

Mustard made in the French town of Dijon has a long history of being considered some of the best; it was the mustard of choice for French royalty in the 14th century. There have been laws regulating how it’s made since 1407. These days, the laws stipulate that Dijon mustard must be made with brown or black mustard seed, the darker varieties, making it pungent. There’s a long tradition of using verjuice – the very tart juice of unripe grapes from nearby vineyards – to make Dijon mustard, and the acid helps to balance out the heat. The result is generally a mustard that’s smooth but packs a serious punch.

How did American mustard get so yellow?

A little over a hundred years ago Americans barely used mustard – it was sold mostly as a powder and it was hot. In 1904, Robert French launched a mild “cream salad mustard” that was spreadable and sales took off after it hit a hot dog at the St. Louis’s World Fair. French’s mustard is still a huge seller. Robert colored it yellow with turmeric to set it apart. Competitors copied the look and, ever since, the go-to American mustard has remained bright yellow and fairly bland (thanks to using only mild white mustard seeds). There’s more flavorful yellow mustard to be found out there; Raye’s in Maine makes an exceptional classic yellow mustard that I’ve always got in my fridge.

A lot of the Dijon mustard out there isn’t from the French city of Dijon. Unlike, say, champagne, which must must come from the region of Champagne, or Parmigiano-Reggiano, which has to be made around the city of Parma, Dijon mustard can be made just about anywhere—France, California, Japan, you name it. The “Dijon” part of the name refers to the style of mustard that was developed over the last thousand years in the French town of Dijon. Even the mustard that does come from Dijon these days is mostly made by companies with executive boards in other countries, so finding Dijon mustard made by a locally-owned company is harder than you might think.

Dijon mustard was famous long before Grey Poupon.

Mustard has been grown in the Burgundy region around Dijon since the Romans brought it there some 2,000 years ago. The first official record of mustard made in Dijon proper is from 1336 when a local banquet featured a whole cask of it; it must have been quite a meal because they ate the whole thing. A few years later the king of France ordered 200 pounds of Dijon mustard for his kitchen in Paris despite having access to loads of mustards from anywhere. It’s had a ritzy air ever since, right up to modern day Grey Poupon ads.

What makes Dijon mustard different from other mustards? It starts with the type of mustard seed. There are three major kinds grown: white, brown, and black. They get hotter as they get darker. Most yellow American mustard is made with white seeds; Dijon mustard is made with a mix of more pungent brown and black seeds. Dijon mustard also includes more mustard seeds and less water than other mustards, making it thicker. Before the seeds are ground into powder, they’re fermented in vinegar overnight giving the mustard its characteristic tart flavor. The fermentation was traditionally done with verjuice, the very tart juice pressed from unripe grapes grown in local Burgundy vineyards; today it’s generally done in vinegar made to emulate the acidity of verjuice.

At the heydey of Dijon mustard making in the mid-nineteenth century, there were 39 independent mustard makers in Dijon. By 1911, thanks to a decline in the industry and the conglomeration of several of the companies, only eleven remained. The acquisitions continued; Grey-Poupon, nearly synonymous with Dijon, is owned by Kraft. Today, only one family-owned Dijon mustard house remains: Edmond Fallot.

Fallot has been making mustard in Dijon since 1840.

Today most of the original mustard making equipment is in a museum the Fallot company runs, but many of the techniques used to make the mustard still look like they did 170 years ago. Notably, they still grind their mustard seed with an old stone mill (just like Raye’s does in Maine). Using stone prevents overheating the mustard seed, which drives off its flavor and pungency. Most mustard makers have abandoned the slow, traditional stones for faster machines that crank out way more mustard (with way less flavor). Fallot also ferments their mustard in huge oak casks after it’s made, further developing the flavor before the mustard is jarred.

This is not mustard for the faint of heart.

The difference in flavor is clear as soon as you open a jar: even the aroma gives a hint of the nose-tingling spice. While other Dijon mustards may be a bit tart with a mild bit of spice that fades quickly, Fallot has a powerful, prickly heat goes right up into your sinuses like a punch in the nose. As the heat subsides, there’s a tangy, rich flavor that lasts and lasts.

Eat out around Dijon and you’re likely to find a small, ceramic pot of mustard on the table.

You could do that at home, too. Mustard lasts basically forever, even at room temperature, but the pungency keeps much better when it’s stored in the fridge. A strong mustard like Fallot is as good a match for the rich cuisine of the countryside of Eastern France as it is for the Eastern midwest: potatoes, sausages and other meats, sauerkraut, cheese, bread. Actually, that sounds like the makings for a sandwich—one that would be really good with a smear of Fallot mustard.