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Salt Shores

Text by Aeriel Brown
Photography by John Luke

Bali Kechil: Bali, Indonesia

Let’s face it: when you’re somewhere new, salt is probably the last of the ‘local foods’ you’re anxious to try. It’s not just that it lacks the obvious sexiness of the roadside-purchased mango or the firm, white flesh of a Mahi-Mahi caught — by you — off the coast of Nicaragua. It’s that the tiny grains of white rock are found on every table across America, making it seem mundane, boring. This lack of appreciation is unfortunate. Up until the last century, when it became easy to mass-produce, salt was one of the most culturally significant food products in the world. Roman soldiers were partially paid in the stuff. It was the centerpiece of one of Ghandi’s protests (his Salt March across India was a direct campaign against British taxes). But sometime during modern history, the image of salt as a luxury item, and the ‘taste of revolution’, was supplanted by a more neutered one — a little girl with an umbrella walking in the rain from those ubiquitous Morton’s containers.

“With salt, there is this real cultural disconnect,” says Mark Bitterman, owner of The Meadow, a specialty shop offering salts from around the world. “It’s the most denigrated food we eat because it’s become one of the most processed.” “This is a shame,” he says, “because, it’s actually the original local, natural food. It’s probably one of the first things we made when we came out of the caves.” 

Molokai Red, Coarse: Molokai, Hawaii
Flor de Sal de Manzanillo: Manzanillo, Mexico

Not only was it probably one of the first manufactured foods, it is, more than likely, one of the earliest site-specific flavors in the human diet. “It’s like wine,” explains Bitterman. “The earth — or sea in this case — vastly affects the flavor. In wine this is called terroir. In salts, I call this merroir.” Minor changes in temperature, humidity and mineral content from surrounding lands — all which can shift with altitude changes — have major effects on the final product. So despite the fact that chemically they are all alike, salts from different locales will vary widely in color, texture and grain size. All of this dictates how salt interacts with the food it’s sprinkled on, and with our own tongues. More moisture creates a flakier texture and a product that dissolves faster in food; less humid regions produce bigger grains and more crunch (and salt perfect for topping homemade baked goods). 

Kauai Guava: Kauai, Hawaii
New Marlborough Flaky: Marlborough, New Zealand

Even the way each salt is made or harvested is highly dependent on location. In parts of France, for instance, salinated water is evaporated gently in natural marshes, resulting in Sel Gris or Fleur de sel. In the cold climate of Essex, England, water is boiled over fire, resulting in a fine, delicate product. 

Here in The States, most salt is made in giant, industrial-sized pans. Hundreds of them are lined up together, the water evaporating over the course of several years until the salt crystals can be harvested. “What happens, though,” says Bitterman, “is that in places like the San Francisco Bay, companies will gather the water coming from upstream. This is highly polluted water, but they’ll boil it down, harvest and purify it and market it to people as sea salt.” The public thinks it’s getting a natural, chemical-free product, but, as Bitterman puts it, “the manufacturers have had to process it to remove all the pollutants.” 

This story originally appeared in WAX Issue 2.