Spread 'Em: This Summer's Hottest Condiment

If your idea of mustard is limited to the yellow horror most of us grew up with, slathered on hot dogs at backyard cookouts, then you won't be surprised to learn that mustard consumption is on the decline in the United States.

Americans eat $2 billion worth of mayonnaise each year, believe it or not, according to a 2014 survey by Euromonitor, with ketchup a distant second at $800 million consumed. Mustard, with sales of $450 million, was a dismal sixth behind the likes of soy sauce, barbecue sauce and hot sauce.

Why doesn't mustard, umm, cut the mustard as America's condiment?

After all, it's typically fat-free and low in calories (averaging just five calories per serving), and its anti-bacterial nature means it can be kept unrefrigerated basically indefinitely (no fear of food poisoning with mustard left out at a picnic). Heck, it's even naturally gluten-free.

It's got quite a range of flavors, colors and textures, from the tangy, bright-yellow French's first introduced at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair by the R.T. French Company, to the grainy, wine-based flavors of whole-grain mustards, to the zingy, melt-your-nose-hairs English varieties. You certainly can't call mustard shy and retiring.

The Romans get the nod for first commercializing mustard in the late 4th or early 5th centuries, eventually exporting the knowledge to Gaul, now France. There, the town of Dijon became known as the mustard capital as far back as the 13th century.

The Brits had their hand in the pot dating back to 1814, when Jeremiah Colman took the reins of a local mustard business whose unique formula combined both brine and white mustard seeds for a particularly zingy spread. Today, Colman's dry variety (made from 100 percent pure mustard flour) can be used in trendy dishes such as Koorma vegetable curry or Maryland crab cakes.

Cross the English Channel and you'll discover that Dijon is designated as an appellation d'origine contr�ll�e in France for its mustard, a high honor regulating its production based on the region's terroir, that ineffably French "sense of place" that gives something a unique taste.

Despite years of efforts to tempt the American palate ("Pardon me, would you have any Grey Poupon?") the vast majority of Americans (more than 88 percent) say they use the typical yellow American-style mustard.

A venerable name from Dijon is looking to change that.

French Invasion

Founded in 1747, Maille recently opened an outpost in New York. The boutique on the Upper West Side //www.maille.com/en_US/boutiques?sid=new_york looks like an elegant jewelry shop or bespoke stationary store, with pristine packaging and glowing jars artfully arranged in the window. More than 25 varieties of tongue-tingling mustards jostle for space on the shelves lining the walls with the ever-present cornichons (disappointingly if accurately named gherkins on the American labels these days), exclusive olive oils and nut oils, and flavored vinegars that harken back to the company's heritage as purveyor to King Louis XV.

Mustard sommelier (and the manager of the Manhattan Maille boutique) Pierette Huttner looks as French as her first name, stunning with that flair for fashion that is unique to Frenchwomen. Imagine my surprise when her American accent greets me.

"I'm American, and we Americans seem to like big, exotic flavors," Huttner says, pointing out mustards with black currants, figs and mango as the most popular items as she gave me a quick tour of the New York store.

Then, we sidled up to the bar. The mustard bar. Maybe you've been to an olive oil shop, with gleaming stainless tankards of different oils? Amateur. The Maille mustard bar is a thing only the French could conceive.

Mustard on Tap

Maille's four fat, matte black mustard taps are emblazoned with the company's herald and gold-colored hardware. The spigots spill seasonal offerings, changed twice yearly.

For spring and summer this year, the mustards on tap are wine-oriented: Chardonnay, with its whole grains and smooth, mild finish; Chablis, a touch fruitier; White Wine, with the fiery bite similar to a traditional Dijon-style mustard; and a Sauternes mustard, reminiscent of dried fruit and Bordeaux sunshine.

Simply put, the mustard was unlike anything I've ever tasted, and I have more than a few jars in my refrigerator. But the real coup de foudre, the thunderclap that signaled love at first bite? The collectable (and refillable) crocks in specialty colors into which the mustard is smoothly dispensed.

Huttner has a self-described sweet tooth, so when she starts talking about some of the fruitier mustards, she starts talking about desserts. That's right: mustard for dessert. But the Pistachio and Orange Mustard in a chocolate �clair makes sense when you taste it, and you can believe that the Cognac Mustard would make an elegant, tangy foil in a sweet, creamy custard.

Mustard is far more than a simple condiment for hot dogs. Leave it to the French to elevate the simple to the sublime.

Maille is located at 185 Columbus Avenue at 68th Street, a short stroll from Lincoln Center and Columbus Circle on New York's Upper West Side.