Grape Mostarda

Is there anything more succulent than a cluster of dusty yet shiny, tight purple globes hanging on the vine? Whenever I go grape picking, I  really have to restrain myself: I want to just grab them all. It's such a textile event. There is something about grapes that you just want to squeeze. Their weight and firmness feels good in your hand, and of course biting into them is a pleasure of their own. The chewy and slightly tannic skin starts sweet and ends a touch bitter. It yields to the gelatinous yet tensile flesh inside. Both are an almost obvious pleasure, followed by the gratifying separation of the heart-shaped bitter pit with your tongue. Even the spitting out of the seeds is satisfying.

I was thinking of a sweet preparation for these particular red sheridan grapes, but was intrigued by a suggestion from a friend on Instagram. She said chutney. My mind doesn't normally think of a chutney when thinking of grapes, but it was a brilliant idea. I almost made it. In particular, this one from the Cozy Herbivore. But instead I started thinking of mostarda, that fabulous fruity mustard (mustardy fruit?) that hails from Italy. 

Grape Mostarda
Adapted from Grape Mostarda, Bon Appetit
Yield: 2 half-pint jars

About two pounds of local red sheridan grapes (I'm betting any local, sweet variety would do well)
1 small white onion, chopped finely
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons of yellow mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon of dried red chili pepper flakes
1 teaspoon of fresh rosemary, chopped
1 tablespoon of candied citrus (or you can use citrus zest)
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon of dijon mustard

First, prep the grapes. Slip the innards from the skin into a saucepan. Reserve the skins in a bowl. Simmer the grape innards for about ten minutes--you will notice the flesh separate from the seeds. Turn off the heat and let it cool a bit. Then press it all through a food mill to remove the seeds. Add the flesh to the skins. Sauté the onion in a small bit of olive oil until just softened. Then add the grapes, and the rest of the ingredients, except the mustard. Get it to a good simmer, and let it cook for about twenty minutes, until it looks glossy and thick. Add the mustard. Turn off the heat and pour into clean jars. Keep refrigerated.

I think this mostarda is best after sitting a few days, and it should keep in the fridge for quite some time. The recipe makes two half-pint jars, and a little goes a long way, so you might want to gift some of this to a friend or serve it at a party with cheese. The color is amazing, and it's slightly zingy due to the red pepper. The little mustard seeds give it a caviar-like pop in each bite. I couldn't resist and we had some for dinner the day I made it: a baguette, a creamy French bleu cheese, soppressata and a bottle of wine. Aren't those the best dinners? The next day I had the leftovers in a sandwich. Heaven! But upon tasting it again today, it's much better now that the intense flavors have had time to mingle.

Beer and Horseradish Mustard

While all my preserving compatriots are busy making gorgeous citrusy elixirs, I am here making very homely mustard. But it is not without its merit! Lately I've been using up my marmalading time (which is at night when baby is asleep, chez moi) to become fully besotted with Downton Abbey, like many folks are. (No spoilers in the comments, please! I'm a few episodes behind.) I keep on telling myself that it's okay, because come rhubarb season, I won't have a spare moment for the following eight months.

I realized I had to make some mustard because the other day I went shopping and thought: Oh, we need mustard. And then I realized I couldn't bear to buy horrible store mustard when my own would be so much better. I knew I had yellow and brown seeds, and powder all ready to go. But then, I got sucked into Season Two, Episode 5. The next day we had ham steaks for dinner, and my patient husband said, "You know, this would be good with some mustard. But, it seems we don't have any." He knew exactly why that was, and so, the next free moment I had, I whipped this up. Why do I procrastinate so??

On a completely unrelated note, does anybody remember the British miniseries Poldark? It makes me laugh to think of it, but I recall my parents watching it on PBS with some regularity. Makes me think that my son one day will wonder what the fuss was about Downton Abbey. Maybe I'll have to revisit it. Although, my mother called the other day with heraldic news: she found a neighborhood orange tree and a box full of them is winging its way to me as I type. Maybe a gorgeous citrusy elixir will soon be mine to make! But that does mean a sacrafice: no Poldark revival.

So, back to the mustard. Mustard recipes are all over the internets, and it is indeed easy to make. My first mustard came out lovely, but then I made--or thought I made--a horrible one. Ends up I tasted it too soon, which is a misstep. You must give mustard a little time. Make sure you visit Hank Shaw's mustard primer, it's filled with concise information. Local Kitchen has quite a few lovely recipes, and look at all these great ones at Punk Domestics! There's some mustard appreciation going on out there.

I loved the 6 DIY Mustard Recipes from The Kitchn and Sunset Magazine, but I must admit I was a bit put off by the addition of eggs and the use of the double boiler. I know that's lazy of me, but I prefer the easier soak/blend method. However, I understand the thickness quandary, and it made me think I might try a mustard experiment with chia seeds. Aha! We'll see how long that takes. Probably until my poor husband looks up all sad from his ham with an obvious mustard withdrawal.

Beer and Horseradish Mustard - a nice thick consistency, this mustard will do fine on a sandwich, a sausage, or pretzel. Strong, but not too sharp, it's a hearty condiment.


Makes about a cup. Store in the fridge, will keep probably forever but hopefully you'll finish it before then.

3 tablespoons of brown mustard seeds
3 tablespoons of yellow mustard seeds
1/3 cup of apple cider vinegar (I use Bragg's)
1/3 cup of beer (Slightly cringeworthy disclosure: I used Genny Cream Ale. Hey, it's local!)
1 heaping tablespoon of prepared horseradish
1 teaspoon of salt

Mix all in a pint jar. Let sit overnight in the fridge. The next day, put it in the food processor or blender and pulse until it's to your liking. Should be good to eat right then, but a few days is always good for smoothing out the bite.