I’m showing you a picture of Theo picking grapes in Sonoma, rather than the violet mustard, which those lovely grapes were tortured into. Sort of. I first tasted the stuff when we photographed it for

The New York Times and then again earlier this summer when I bought a jar from Grandmere Yvonne (see last week’s post). It’s an ancient recipe from Limousin in France, to which one of the Popes Clement was so addicted, he ordered up a constant supply for the palace. Violet mustard is made of the freshly pressed, slightly acidic grape must from black grapes, boiled down until syrupy, then mixed with black mustard seed and spices. It makes smoked duck very happy.

Recently, I had the pleasure of working with Stephen Lewis on a project for Newton Vineyards in Napa Valley, from whence, at the end of the day, cameth a case of black wine grapes. I took them home. Pressed them in an unbleached muslin bag by hand. Boiled the must down by ¾. Soaked some black mustard seeds I had left over from some other project in red wine vinegar I made from those grapes Theo picked. Then whirred it all together in an electric coffee grinder. Vile. Truly vile. Vile-let Mustard-Sludge, in fact. I should have followed the recipe in that New York Times article.