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Created by Chef Thomas
A sharp, sinus-clearing dressing built around a spoonful of Colman's, the sort that wakes up a tired plate of leaves and asks nothing of you except five minutes and a jam jar.
There's a jar of Colman's in nearly every British fridge, and most of it gets used on a Sunday with the beef and then forgotten about until the next roast. That's a waste. The same yellow heat that cuts through cold meat will cut through a bowl of bitter winter leaves, or a plate of boiled new potatoes, or a few slices of cold ham eaten standing up at the kitchen counter.
This is the dressing I make most weeks, and the one I almost never write down because there's nothing to write. A spoon of mustard. A splash of vinegar. Garlic if I can be bothered, honey to take the edge off, and good olive oil whisked in until the whole thing turns the colour of pale custard. Five minutes, one bowl, no fuss.
The trick, if there is one, is the mustard itself. Colman's is meant to be sharp. Properly sharp. The kind of sharp that climbs up the back of your nose and makes your eyes water for half a second. If your jar has gone tame, replace it. A good vinaigrette starts with a mustard that still bites back. We're only making dinner, but we may as well make it taste of something.
Quantity
1 heaped teaspoon
from the jar, or made up from the powder
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 small clove
crushed to a paste with a pinch of salt
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
100ml
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| Colman's English mustardfrom the jar, or made up from the powder | 1 heaped teaspoon |
| white wine vinegar | 2 tablespoons |
| garliccrushed to a paste with a pinch of salt | 1 small clove |
| runny honey | 1 teaspoon |
| good extra virgin olive oil | 100ml |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| freshly ground black pepper | to taste |
Spoon the mustard into a small bowl or a clean jam jar. Add the vinegar and the garlic paste and whisk, or screw the lid on and shake, until you have a smooth, ochre-coloured slurry. Lean over it and breathe in. If it doesn't make your eyes prickle a little, the mustard isn't doing its job. Open a fresher jar.
Stir in the honey. Just a teaspoon, no more. You're not making it sweet. You're rounding the edges so the mustard doesn't bite without warning. The dressing should still be sharp enough to wake you up; the honey is there to make sure it doesn't shout.
Pour in the olive oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking all the while. Or, if you're using a jar, add it all at once, screw the lid on tight, and shake the daylights out of it. The dressing will turn from translucent to opaque, the colour of clotted cream stained yellow, thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. That's emulsion. That's what you want.
Salt, pepper, taste. Then taste again. It should make you sit up straight. If it's too sharp, another drop of honey or oil. If it's too flat, more salt before you reach for more vinegar. Good vinaigrette balances on a knife edge. Trust your tongue, not the measurements.
1 serving (about 37g)
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