There is Such a Thing as Too Much Salt

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I like salt. I always have. Maybe I have a deficiency or something. Maybe I am reverting back to a pre-evolutionary stage where our ancestors struggled to emerge from the briney ooze that was the beginnings of life. Ok, that’s just stupid.

Anyway, I’m at a favorite haunt having breakfast this morning and sending emails on my Blackberry. I get my food and move to salt it and that’s when everything gets blurry.

They have that sea salt in the jar with the built-in grinder, right? Like this…

Personally, when you live in the humidity of Houston, you’re used to weird salt. If salt shakers don’t have grains of white rice in them, I’m not sure I should even be using it in the first place.

Anyway, I don’t like grinders. They get jammed and the salt often comes out in a fine powder. It’s messy too. But, it won’t stop me from using it.

So, I’m grinding salt to put on my hash browns and my breakfast sandwich and the thing is sticky. I’m working it pretty hard and managing to get salt out of it. I make one really strong move to get the last bit of seasoning on my sandwich and, as if I had a prank pulled on me, the top comes off and salt pours out into my sandwich and all over the table.


What to do? Well, check to see if anyone is looking and begin sweeping and dumping salt off of the sandwich and onto the floor. I’m not the type to return it and ask for another as a result of my clumsiness and their sticky salt shaker so I grin and bear it.

You know, I like salt, but I may never eat it again after having that sandwich. Not only did it taste like it had been soaked in ocean water, the large rock salt grains were crunchy, not exactly what I’m looking for in a breakfast sandwich.

The moral of the story: there is none. I’m just a dufus who ate a salty sandwich. Ugh.

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