Burning Wine Brownies

A house divided, that’s what these brownies have done. Jonathan has his rules about cooking, and I have smashed them to pieces with two tablespoons. As I was measuring, I foresaw his reaction. This is the man who once screamed at the host of a popular cooking show, “You are a fake! That is not the way chefs chop parsley!” Parsley, people, had this man in a snit. So just imagine what Mustard Brownies did.

That’s right, I said it. Mustard Brownies. In light of the Food Blogging Event being hosted by Habeas Brulee I set out to cook a dish with a spice not normally used for that dish. Except, I don’t cook. Jonathan cooks (usually for good reason). I bake; I have a sweet tooth, and I love chocolate. Clearly it was going to have to be a baked good. But what strange spice to mix in? The answer was actually staring at me from my seat on the couch: Mustard, my favorite condiment, in the form of my empty mustard jar collection. I balked at the initial thought. Mustard? But, I knew that if I used Mustard powder, I could substitute it for normal flour. It was at least feasible.

Feasible, yes, once I had the Mustard Powder. That turned out to be the most difficult step. I visited four stores before I found the yellow tin on a shelf of a small gourmet food shop. Back at home I set to work in the kitchen, with a recipe for basic brownies, a tall yellow tin of Coleman’s Mustard Powder, and two wishes: The first, that my boyfriend would not come in and see what was about to happen; Second, that they would be edible.

I was not so lucky in the former hope. I had measured each of the ingredients as the recipe asked for, then pulled two tablespoons of flour out of the last cup. I had the mustard powder in hand when he walked in.

“Baking, hmm?” he said, with a giddy smile.

I tried to turn my back to him, but he came up for a hug, peeked over my shoulder, and I felt him freeze behind me. A short, good-natured, but somewhat serious, debate about the recipe I planned to create, the nature of good food, the rules of cooking etc. I believe I heard the words “ disgrace to cooking," right before I sent him out of the kitchen. I added to the bowl two heaping teaspoons of yellow powder, finished mixing, and popped the pan into the oven. The color of the mixture wasn't even different. The yellow tone of the dry ingredients had disappeared when mixed with the melted butter and chocolate.

While they baked, I researched a little. I love mustard, but I have never actually thought about its history. (I have been content that it is within my reach in the present.) The first piece of information I found was about the name: “Its English name, mustard, is derived from a contraction of the Latin mustum ardens meaning burning wine. This is a reference to the spicy heat of the crushed mustard seeds and the French practice of mixing the ground seeds with must, the young, unfermented juice of wine grapes.” I thought this was fitting, since I was making this concoction with the dry winter grape vines out through my window view. Mustard has been coveted for centuries. Pope John XXII even created the position of “mustard maker to the pope.” It’s been revered as a medicinal tool and has also been a symbol of potential for certain religions. (For more information on its history, see here). And that’s what I thought this dish had – potential. Further along in my reading, I read: “Since heat causes the pungent flavor of mustard to dissipate, mustard is generally added near the end of the dish and gently heated.” Whoops.

The timer went off, and I pulled out the batch. Despite the warning that mustard would inhibit rising and the baking time would need to be extended, they were perfectly done. Not a speck on the toothpick. They looked completely normal. But the smell? OohLaLa. They smelled strong enough to bring tears to my eyes. (Incidentally, the smell, and the strength, dissipated once the brownies had cooled.) Just then Jonathan peeked his head into the kitchen. His eyes too suddenly watered.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he ranted, exiting the kitchen, with muttered words following him.

Curiosity overpowered me; I could not wait and shoved a fork into the hot pan. The taste was…well, different. That’s what the people in my French class said the next day too. And what the people downstairs at the bar said. “Different,” they repeated, with a strange look on their faces, chewing slowly. But they each took two. Jonathan never took one, but by the time I got home, there wasn’t much left to take anyway. So I sat on the couch, watching Jonathan fume at my culinary sacrilege, and amusedly finished off the lone last piece.

RECIPE for Jessica's Burning Wine Brownies

8 Inch Square Pan

1/2 cup butter (1 stick)

2 squares unsweetened chocolate (2 x 28 grams)

1 cup sugar

2 eggs, well beaten

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

3/4 cup flour (**Start with 3/4 cup and then remove two Tablespoons of flour away)

2 Tablespoons of Mustard Powder (to replace removed flour)

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup chopped walnuts (*Optional)

Melt butter and chocolate together in a large saucepan. Remove from heat

Stir in remaining ingredients.

Pour into a greased 8 inch square pan. Bake at 350 degrees F/ 180 degrees C for 25 to 30 minutes. Cool and cut into squares.