I will always over-react when dealing with Brits and mustard. Always.
It dates back to a 13 year old silenus making himself a ham and cheese sandwich by the side of the road in Yorkshire on his first trip to Britain out of foodstuffs purchased from the local grocery. A young lad who had never encountered any mustard other than French’s. A lad who applied the same amount of Colman’s that he would have applied the yellow stuff.
No, I will never forget. Or forgive. 