Cutting the mustard. Like many common clichés, it doesn’t seem to make much sense. Traditionally, it’s used to describe something or something being successful or rising to the challenge. What that has to do with mustard is anyone’s guess…until now. You see, I’m not satisfied with following the uniformed status quo. I don’t play that. So I did what any self-respecting geek would do. I went and played video games for hours. After that, however, I did some due diligence. My research proved fruitful, so I bring to you now the origins of the phrase, “cutting the mustard.”

In the late 1700’s, in the Eastern European village of Hellman, life was good. The villagers farmed and milked cows and other old-time villager type stuff. One particularly frigid winter night, a stranger walked into town. This stranger was stranger than most. The villagers who passed him in town were afraid of him because he was dressed in all black, had black mascara, black fingernails, and an emo haircut. This guy was seriously bad and tough. He went to the local inn and tried to rent a room, but he started crying over the puppy he lost twenty years ago as a child. He then wrote a boring song about it. The innkeeper, either in fear for his life or depressed because of the crappy song, threw the stranger out. The stranger cried for a little while and posted a unintentionally funny video blog complaining about it—the village had dialup Internet powered by a mule-powered generator. After that, he placed a curse on the town.

The next night, the mustard fields, long a source of pride for the village, caught fire. Out of the flames crawled giant wooded casks filled with mustard. The oozed across the earth, leaving yellow, slimy trails of mustard in their wake. The townsfolk of Hellman weren’t so easily bested, however. They wore mullets and sleeveless t-shirts and didn’t take crap from anyone, especially demon possessed barrels of mustard. They took out their swords, which were always on hand during olden times, and waged a fierce battle against the mustard. Many men were lost, but the first rays of the morning sun revealed the mustard smeared streets of Hellman, the villagers standing victorious in the morning fog. The people of Hellman cut the mustard down in its evil but quite tasty tracks, leaving a legacy and a really popular condiment for the world to enjoy.

The preceding story is 100% factual. I’d stake my impressive social life on it. So now you know. You’re welcome.


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