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Mustard? Hopefully taking the impeachment hearings public will be akin to the baseball aphorism of putting “some mustard on it". Let's hope, anyway.
I don’t use mustard that much anymore. But thanks to this conversation I might start again. (It’s actually quite good for you.) Once, in my impoverished years abroad, it was a meal in and of itself. The hottest mustard I've ever encountered was an English mustard served at The Lass in Richmond Surrey. A daily supper for me was a scotch egg (they had a nest of them in a big bowl on the bar) served with a side of English mustard for dipping and eaten like an apple, then washed down with a couple pints of Guinness and embalmed with a couple of Gauloise. I remember exiting at closing time (10:30 pm) and crossing the street in a fog of smoke and fire to get back on campus. Life was good. And if it had ended right then and there (when crossing the street) I’d have died happy, full-bellied, teary-eyed, penniless but rich with contentment. English mustard that I know goes up the nose continues into the eyes. Of course, many hot mustards do the same, but I always thought that the heat in English mustard was ironically "in your face" when the English are anything but.
But back to the beginning…
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