survival skill: mustardy vinaigrette

I am trying to remember exactly when vinaigrette stopped being a mystery. It was one of those pivotal junctures in personal history that came long after the first Pesto (1988) - and still a few years after mesclun salad mix (1993: oh, the revelation of Arugula!), and probably a decade before I got Pie Crust. The early days of food history were mainly about acquiring tastes, and I acquired my taste for the french vinaigrette on Sunday mornings as a college student in Northampton, Massachusetts. Brunch at Curtis and Schwartz was Sunday's analogue to Saturday's bar scene -- all the same women, except with bed head -- sharing pitchers of hazelnut coffee in seating arrangements that answered any questions you might have had the night before. Besides the coffee, all I remember is 1) Eggs scrambled with lox and cream cheese, and 2) salad with tarragon vinaigrette.

It was a few years of trying before I managed to replicate that Vinaigrette. First, I had to get past the nineties' obsession with balsamic. But still, my vinaigrettes always came out so oily, no matter how meticulously I followed a recipe.

And then, magically: the French Vinaigrette appears in memory. Almost like an archetype - I don't know quite where from, but it could have been anywhere since the basic formula stays the same:

1 part Dijon mustard + wine vinegar
3 parts oil

Just remember the ratio between acid and oil of 1:3. Or to be a lot more specific:

1/4 cup white-wine vinegar
2 tablespoons finely chopped shallot
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
3/4 cup oil (olive, or grapeseed, or canola, or a mix)

The shallot is optional. Put everything except the oil into a lidded jar and shake it up. Then add the oil and shake it again until you get a nice emulsion.