Mustard in Skittles is the devil's work

Skittles candy is releasing a new flavor: mustard. Why? What sins have we committed to deserve these sadistic confectionary combos?

This is the point where someone says, "Actually, mustard candy is quite popular in Scandinavia." And you say, "Sure, they probably have herring Popsicles, but this is America, where 'mustard' and 'candy' occupy that never-the-twain-shall-meet category."

Let's back up. The only evidence I can find of mustard candy pre-existing before the Skittles announcement was a website selling prank stuff — whoopee cushions and fake barf. You're supposed to give them to someone and then wait for them to grimace and spit it out. Loads of laffs at parties! Watch them cry! Note how your social circle dwindles to nothing!

But now the stuff is proudly touted for normal folks, not social sadists. As the "Today" show put it:

"The candy-coated brains in the boardroom of one of America's most famous candies is teaming up with the nearly 120-year-old condiment company to create the unique treat ahead of National Mustard Day on Aug. 5."

If mustard candy wasn't bad enough, now you're thinking of cerebral matter with a hard chocolate shell that does not melt in your hand. That's going to skew those MRI results: "The good news is that everything looks fine, but we're a little concerned about the enormous white M."

Here's the Mars marketing director's press release: "Skittles is always looking to inspire moments of everyday happiness and deliver unexpected ways for fans to experience the brand." Well, firing Skittles at people's heads with a high-velocity pneumatic Gatling gun is unexpected, too. If one of those hits you in the eye, I don't think you say, "Ouch, but also yay, I am experiencing a brand!"

Two things: We might have reached the apotheosis of "iconic" if a candy texture is "iconic." Have you had a Starburst lately? It's like chewing on a wet paper. I suppose that's iconic, as well.

Also, National Mustard Day? Yes. It's coming up on Saturday. Fine, I guess. It's a bit late to get the party invites out, but I'm glad to know it. It was started by people in Middleton, Wis., at the National Mustard Museum.

Their website notes that the Egyptians invented mustard, and the Romans wrote down the first mustard recipe and used it as a medicine — despite it doing absolutely nothing, of course. Doctors back then would say, "The patient hasn't responded to leeches, hot wine enemas or poultices of geese brains; perhaps it's time for condiments."

It had a vogue in the 13th century, was commercially milled by the British in the 19th century, then made its way to the New World, where the French's company rolled out their American version in 1904. The company also made parakeet chow, so you could fatten them up with one product and use the condiment on broasted budgie breast, I guess.

I'm of the generation that had exactly one flavor of mustard: glow-in-the-dark yellow. You might have been a French's family. You might have gone for Plochman's, which came in a plastic yellow "Squeeze Barrel."

Anyway. It wasn't until 1984 that we became aware of Dijon, thanks to the commercials that had fancy people in nice cars asking if the other fellow had any Grey Poupon. This changed our expectations, and we began to demand more from mustard.

Stone-ground! Horseradish accents! Putting out plain old mustard was a sign of a banal palate, even though that's really what we wanted. Nothing beats the simple perfection of American Mustard, with its optimistic hue and comforting mild tang.

So why do we rebel at Mustard Skittles?

Two words: Mustard Skittles. It's like a candy bar called Milky Hay. Chewing iconic-texture + bratwurst accompanist + sugar makes your tongue say, "I have to hand all those inputs to the big moist processing center upstairs, and it's going to wonder what I'm doing down here, and I can't use the 'Oh, it's the State Fair' excuse because the brain's getting input from Mr. Nose in the olfactory department, and he's not reporting anything related to cows, spilled beer or generator exhaust."

Well, it could be worse, I suppose. It could be mustard ice cream.