Australian supermarket mustard taste test: the most intense is ‘an excellent torture device’

‘I want my sausage delivered, if not with radioactive fallout, then with a side of light acupuncture,’ writes Nicholas Jordan who taste tested 39 jars of mustard. Photograph: James Gourley/PublishdView image in fullscreen‘I want my sausage delivered, if not with radioactive fallout, then with a side of light acupuncture,’ writes Nicholas Jordan who taste tested 39 jars of mustard. Photograph: James Gourley/PublishdAustralian supermarket mustard taste test: the most intense is ‘an excellent torture device’In a taste test of almost 40 jars, Nicholas Jordan and friends experience the full spectrum of mustards, from timid to nuclear

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Foods designed to be eaten on their own need balance; without, it you’ll struggle to get through a meal. Condiments have different rules. They’re designed to be eaten with something. Their role is to adjust or intensify what is already on the plate, bun or roll.

Mustards should be intense. I’m not saying they need to be nuclear, but at the very least they need to shock me, and make my taste buds feel as if they’ve been pricked by a bed of nails. I want my sausage delivered, if not with radioactive fallout, then with a side of light acupuncture. Anything less is pathetic – likely made by cowards and the spice intolerant. At the very least, they need to taste like mustard – that is, mustard seeds, the ingredient they’re based on. That was how I was thinking before I tasted 39 jars of it.

View image in fullscreenEach mustard was assessed on appearance, aroma, taste and intensity of mustard power; wholegrain mustards were also scored for texture. Photograph: James Gourley/PublishdThe taste test was blind and included six volunteers from my coterie of regular taste test reviewers. The supermarket mustards were tasted and rated in four rounds: dijon, wholegrain, hot English mustard and anything that didn’t fit the other categories – mostly those labelled as American or Australian. Each mustard was assessed on appearance, aroma, taste and intensity of mustard power; wholegrain mustards were also scored for texture. Intensity was ranked within category, so a 10/10 dijon mustard may have the same oomph as a 5/10 hot English. The final scores are heavily weighted towards taste (appearance was excluded from the final score); the final wholegrain mustard scores also included their texture. Each reviewer had the option to taste each product solo or with bread. Apples were provided for palate cleansing between rounds.

View image in fullscreen‘After tasting 39 mustards, my stomach brewed like the cauldron of a naughty witch and my head throbbed like an orchestra of car alarms.’ Photograph: James Gourley/PublishdView image in fullscreenSome mustards can be fruity, others savoury, vegetal, farty or wildly acidic. Photograph: James Gourley/PublishdView image in fullscreenThis sextuple of taste testers was recruited from my personal life. Thank you to them all. Photograph: James Gourley/PublishdThe supermarket provides the full gamut of possible mustard experiences – turmeric-heavy “health” food pastes, mustards so timid they can barely be identified and those so nuclear they’re close to inedible without a sausage. Generally, most dijon mustards are excellent, particularly the more expensive brands.

Wholegrain is the opposite: almost all of the cheapest brands scored far better than their expensive, imported rivals.

American and Australian mustards are a mixed bag – stick to Heinz and Masterfoods.

Besides two brands (see below), hot English mustards are nowhere near hot enough.

Read moreMost confusing for me, someone so anxious about delivering crude scores they feel the need to give general recommendations about how to think about purchasing mustard, brands are incredibly inconsistent. One producer, Beerenberg, had a mustard place in both the top and bottom thirds.

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The 39 mustards were not all as powerful as I wanted, but together, they were far too much for one human. After tasting 39 mustards, my stomach brewed like the cauldron of a naughty witch and my head throbbed like an orchestra of car alarms. But those feelings were insignificant compared with the guilt I felt for including six others in this mission. When I tasted 41 coffees done two ways, at least my companions were caffeine-hardened professionals. This sextuple was recruited from my personal life. Thank you to them all.

Note: we tasted three brands of mustard with limited availability – Edmond Fallot, Chef’s Choice and Newman’s – to check how supermarket brands compare with more expensive options. There is no significant relationship between price and enjoyment. Of those more expensive brands, Edmond Fallot scored particularly well, Newman’s particularly badly.

View image in fullscreenBeerenberg Dijon Mustard, 155g, $5.30 ($3.42 per 100g), available at select grocers

I was surprised by the variety of flavours. Some mustards can be fruity, others savoury, vegetal, farty or wildly acidic. This is a great example. Reviewers talked about the strength of the mustard seed flavour and the savoury, almost oniony aftertaste. Some found it fruity and others slightly sweet and savoury. But none of the reviewers found any of those elements overwhelming. It’s a powerful song but no individual musician is playing too loudly. A pity you have to pay a lot to hear it.

View image in fullscreenMaille Traditional Dijon Mustard, 215g, $6 ($2.79 per 100g), available at major supermarkets

Take a minute to imagine what the best dijon mustard would be like. This is likely what you’re imagining. It is the platonic ideal of dijon mustard. Why, you might ask, isn’t it a 10/10? Every single reviewer bar one gave it at least an 8/10; the one who didn’t only criticised it for being boring. The problem with an ideal is it can never surprise you – a masterpiece needs to do something different.

View image in fullscreenMasterfoods Wholegrain Mustard, 175g, $4.50 ($2.57 per 100g), available at major supermarkets

A lot of the mustards included in this section betray the wholegrain name, instead giving lifeless, limp pastes without texture or joy. The expensive brands are the worst offenders. May Masterfoods, with its full, individual grains and delightful pop, bring dishonour to all their names. “Salty, yummy, very easy eating,” wrote one reviewer. Another wrote only, “I love you.” They were the only reviewers not to use the word “pop” in their commentary.

View image in fullscreenMasterfoods Hot English Mustard, 175g, $4.50 ($2.57 per 100g), available at major supermarkets

I was usually the last person at the table to sample each product. I watched as, one by one, each reviewer plunged a teaspoon of this into their mouths, and I remember thinking: I’ve never before experienced such a diverse range of facial expressions and uncontrolled yelps. Like those genetically altered super chillies, taste is a barely perceptible part of the experience. This product is designed to deliver a sensation, one that rattles the nose, disturbs the brain and enlivens the soul. One reviewer described it as a mustard nang and wrote: “An excellent torture device. I bet this is fucking great in a sandwich.” To me, this mustard achieved its purpose with daring and precision. I’m upset it’s only received a middling score. But we did eat it without a sausage. Even the most virtuosic solo can be a little off-putting, particularly when played without the rest of the song.

View image in fullscreenBeerenberg Hot English Mustard, 160g, $5.30 ($3.31 per 100g), available at select grocers

As I understand it, there is no legal obligation for a mustard manufacturer to list chilli in the ingredients. Instead, they can list “spice”, which can include a great variety of things. I have no idea who Beerenberg are trying to fool. This mustard produces a long-lasting burning sensation and a tongue tingle. You can even see red flecks in there. Some reviewers refused to accept it as a mustard, but regardless of whether this is a mustardy chilli paste or a chilli-spiked mustard, it’s unique, even if you take out the chilli. There are probably more than 20 mustards packed with acid and spice that feel designed for sausages and other fatty proteins, but few have any umami, a particularly useful characteristic for any condiments destined for a vegetable. This is probably the most savoury mustard we tried.

View image in fullscreenColway Wholegrain Mustard, 190g, $2.29 ($1.21 per 100g), available at Aldi

Like Masterfoods Wholegrain Mustard, this delivers what it promises – each individual grain is full and robust, providing crunch and pop. Where it differs from its competitor is flavour, being slightly sweeter, funkier and more mustardy but with less salt and vinegar. Subtle differences mean more to someone churning through a parade of 39 variations of the same thing than someone picking an item off the shelf. What you’ll notice more keenly is that this is half the price. Coles, another high-scoring wholegrain mustard, is at a similar but slightly higher price point.

View image in fullscreenYour Condiment Co Mustard Dijon, 200g, $2.60 ($1.30 per 100g), available at Woolworths

When I wrote there was no consistency within mustard brands, I didn’t mention the one exception to that rule, Your Condiment Co. No surprise that the brand with a name that sounds like it’s chosen by upper management produces the most consistently generic mustards – every one of them scored a 7 or 7.5/10. As well as dijon, they make a wholegrain, hot English and mild English mustard. This is the mustard for the countertop of the Ikea showroom – accessible, a fraction of the price and only notably inferior to the French version if you’re fastidious enough to try every alternative.

View image in fullscreenMasterfoods Australian Mustard, 175g, $4.50 ($2.57 per 100g), available at major supermarkets

What is Australian mustard supposed to be? We tasted this mustard in the miscellaneous round with American, German and other mustards that didn’t fit into another category. It was a dreary half-hour full of sweet baby-food pastes and temperamental complaints – mainly from me – about the overuse of turmeric. This was an oasis in the desert of mediocrity. Mostly, it achieved this by being true to type, a simple, mustardy mustard. It was described by one reviewer as a blend of dijon and hot English, and by another as combining all three major styles. It’s funky and a little bitter, leading one reviewer to write: “Pretty weird and eggy, but oddly not in a bad way.”

View image in fullscreenWoolworths Mild American Mustard, 250g, $2.70 ($1.08 per 100g), available at Woolworths

When I was reading through the comments for Masterfoods and Heinz’s American mustards, I saw a lot of reviewers praising the condiments for their potential application on hotdogs. Mild mustards for mild sausages. This mustard isn’t fit for a sausage made of porridge. It is not only mild, it’s offensive to the spice it’s made from, with no kick, funk, power or ambition. One reviewer said it tastes less like mustard and more like watered-down liquid from a piccalilli jar. “Yellow nothing, for people who want to yellow their food without offering its flavour,” another wrote. I never want to eat a mild sausage anyway.

View image in fullscreenColes Hot English Mustard, 200g, $2.90 ($1.45 per 100g) available at Coles

Reviewers described this as inoffensive, balanced and a crowd-pleaser. How offensive. Imagine attending the dinner party of a famous vindaloo chef and saying, thank you, what an inoffensive curry you’ve made. Imagine going back in time to the launch of The Female Eunuch and telling Greer her words were crowd-pleasers. Would you tell Rage Against the Machine their titular album is balanced? The point of hot English mustard is to intensify, augment and provide impact. To change what is already there into something spicier, bigger and more passionate. This may be a crowd-pleaser, but that means it has failed. I’m also annoyed by all the turmeric in it.

View image in fullscreenKühne Traditional German Mustard, 250g, $4.80 ($1.92 per 100g), available at select grocers

I met a chef while travelling in Sri Lanka. He was quite well known in his community and taught other people how to cook. He told me: “We use turmeric only for colour and medicine, it doesn’t taste very good.” When I asked him what it tasted like, he said “like earth”. Imagine what colour this mustard was for them to use enough turmeric to make it taste like soil. “Tastes like ancient turmeric from the back of a cupboard mixed with vinegar,” one reviewer wrote. Another wrote: “Paper, aluminium, powder, turmeric, stale. Actually unpleasant. Revoke their mustard licence.”