Home Life Laurie Nigro Pass the salt (by the bucket) please

Pass the salt (by the bucket) please

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I think I’ve already made it pretty clear that we’re an odd family. From the home-births to the menagerie of misfit animals (have I told you about the anonymous 911 call about the “pig on the loose?”), it’s evident that we live outside the norm. But even I have to pause and wonder about our obsession with salt.

Obviously, I blame my husband.

A life spent on the waters surrounding Long Island has given him an unnatural reverence for all things sodium. Sore throat? Gargle with salt water. Stuffy nose? Saline nasal spray. Infected wound? Pore some salt on it.

That last one is a particular favorite of his. Working for many years on fishing boats will allow you your fair share of cuts and scrapes. From bluefish teeth to frighteningly sharp fillet knives, you’re bound to see a few flesh wounds. Yet, through all of this abuse, he never ended up with an infected or irritated injury. This has convinced him that salt is the panacea of the Gods.

He took it to the extreme a few years back. As a sheet metal worker, he has had a few run-ins with sharp metal and is no stranger to stitches.(I’m starting to see a pattern here.) One such injury was to the back of his hand. After a few days, it looked like the stitches were going to pop. The wound swelled like his hand had eaten a half of a tennis ball. Then it turned a grayish green. Clearly, it was grossly infected.

This was confirmed by a physician who then strongly suggested a course of IV antibiotics. It seemed a smart idea and a good way to avoid gangrene.

No sir. Not my husband. Instead, he opened the pantry, grabbed the BJ’s-sized container of sea salt and poured it on the infected nastiness. Then rubbed it in, slowly and methodically. Such a psycho.

Unfortunately, it worked. In less then 24 hours, his hand was normal again, save the seven stitches. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want him to get gangrene, I just hoped the salt would not have been quite so effective. It’s never good when he’s right. Now he is beyond adamant that salt heals all things. I fear for the next time a child complains of a paper cut.

I do have to agree that salt is fairly miraculous. I just don’t like to agree with my husband when it’s his idea. But, I’m a good sport, eventually, and we now make sure to have lots of salt in the house all the time. That’s where it gets weird.

We have a lot of salt. Abnormal amounts. Like, many pounds of salt. And not just regular old Morton’s or the sea salt off the shelf at the wholesale store, though we have those, too. We have half gallon mason jars full of epsom salt, kosher salt, Himalayan pink salt, Hawaiian black salt and even Dead Sea salt (which tastes awful, just in case you were wondering). Then, while on vacation, we spent $16 for one ounce of Amagansett salt. I kid you not.

We bought a tiny jar of salt for a ridiculous amount of money from a guy who walks into the water, 45 minutes from our house, with five gallon buckets that he then fills, filters, and then lets the sun evaporate said water until he’s left with just the salt.

From what the proprietor said, it takes about five buckets to yield nearly three pounds of salt. Which he then sells at farmer’s markets for $16 an ounce to suckers like my husband. And apparently, my brother-in-law. When my husband proudly showed his salty find to his older brother, it needed no introduction, as he had already purchased his own. The Amagansett salt man is a freaking genius. A likely wealthy freaking genius.

I mean, what kind of overhead could he possibly have? A few buckets, a water filter and maybe some waders, for the chilly days? OK, so he has to buy the jars and fancy labels and pays the market fee, but seriously, what a home run. What do you buy for the person who has it all?? Salt. Really expensive, local salt. The salt man is my hero.

My husband’s salt fetish extends to the salt’s consistency. Large grains are OK for gargling and soaking wounds. Normal sized salt is good for most recipes. But don’t mess with his popcorn salt. Popcorn salt is its own beast, complete with its own labeled jar.

In Brian’s world, popcorn salt must be finely ground to a powder. He uses a spice grinder to obtain the optimal consistency. When he removes the lid, the magic is confirmed by the swirling cloud of salt fumes that escape. Only this salt is fit for popcorn use. I think the argument is something about disbursement. I don’t really listen because I don’t really care. As long as he continues to make the popcorn, and clean up after the popcorn, he can grind the bejesus out of whatever salt he chooses (except the nasty Dead Sea salt).

I can’t complain about the popcorn. It’s really awesome. People come from far and wide to enjoy Nigro popcorn. There’s no real secret, except the crazy salt thing, and a good amount of real, golden-y delicious, grass-fed butter.

Nigro popcorn

Ingredients:

1/2 cup organic popcorn
1/4 cup oil (I like sunflower, but use what you prefer)
1/2 stick grass-fed butter
copious amounts of salt, to taste (powdered salt, if you’re a lunatic)

Directions:

Put oil and popcorn in a heavy bottomed pot with a tight fitting lid. A dutch oven works well. I have a deep skillet with a glass lid that we like. Cover and place over medium high heat. Watch closely and when the popcorn starts to pop, begin shaking the pot gently, side to side (think: Jiffy pop). Keep moving the pot until the the popping slows, almost to a stop. Remove from heat. Melt the butter and pour over the popcorn, a little at a time, mixing with a spatula between pours. Add salt with the butter. Continue in this fashion until the butter is gone and the popcorn has reached the desired level of saltiness. Then prepare to hide it from the children. They love this stuff. We usually give them their own, smaller bowl, but they’re starting to get wise to us. I think maybe we’ll give them the larger bowl, with less popcorn. That should buy us a few more years.

Got any crazy things you seem to inadvertently collect? Clearly, I’m living in a glass house, so feel free to share your oddities with me at laurie@riverheadlocal.com.

 

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Laurie Nigro
Laurie is the mother of two biological children and one husband and the caretaker of a menagerie of animals. Laurie is passionate about frugal, natural living. She was recognized by the L.I. Press Club with a “best humor column” award in 2016. Email Laurie