Dijon, the historic capital of Burgundy in France, might seem a good place to find a pot of the world-famous mustard that bears the city’s name. Since the spring supermarkets across France have run short of the sharp, pale-yellow condiment.

Surely shops in Dijon, where the craft of the moutardier dates to 1634, must sell the stuff? “None,” says a shopkeeper, pointing to empty shelves: “A delivery this morning sold out within the hour.” “Ah non!” says another, “we haven’t had any for weeks.”

In a third shop, an apologetic assistant suggests an alternative: a squeezable bottle of sauce from a manufacturer that boasts of creating “flavour experiences”. “It’s not Dijon mustard though,” he says regretfully. The brand is French’s—America’s favourite.

The mystery of the missing Dijon mustard has gripped France for months. Shops that get stock will sell only one pot per customer. Humorous clips about ways to circumvent rationing fly around social media. □□ cooks scramble for an alternative ingredient to prepare vinaigrette, mayonnaise, or steak tartare, a dish made of raw meat that is also seasoned with egg yolk and capers.

The French eat a kilo of mustard each per year. The type they like has a nose-tingling kick. They do not much care for the milder, sweeter sauce that is slathered on hot dogs in America. Hence the problem. French manufacturers get 80% of the brown mustard seeds (brassica juncea) they need to make Dijon mustard from Canada, where a drought last year halved the harvest.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has prevented French importers from turning to suppliers in those two countries instead. Local farmers cannot compensate, says Luc Vandermaesen of the Burgundy Mustard Association: “The market is totally dry; there are zero stocks, nothing.”

Helpful shopkeepers in Dijon suggest that Moutarde Maille, a shop selling only the famous brand established in 1747, might be the place. Indeed, rows of speciality mustards line its shelves, flavoured with garlic, lemon or truffles, but plain Dijon mustard has sold out.

The French are unlikely to see stocks replenished until 2023 at the earliest, predicts Mr Vandermaesen. In the meantime, the milder version may be their only option—even if it is not the kind on which they are, er, mustard keen.

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